Interrupted Grading

This goat has become my challenge,
the test through which
I prove my worth.
With this goat I re-enact
the original act of civilization.

So stupid, so benign
is this goat
that she forces one to turn a deaf ear
to her friendly greeting,
once so refreshing, so reassuring,
but now harbinger of a torturous afternoon
as her cry rises
with a surprisingly piercing urgency
that splinters my concentration,
disrupts my work,
upsets my schedule,
and signifies nothing--
a sound existing solely for its own sake--

and to torture me.

Why does she scream so?
No answer.
What does she want?
No answer.
Only that cute, stupid sway of the neck,
focusing on me,
standing in the open screen door,
screaming back.

Give me a sign!
What can I do to quiet you,
to calm you,
to appease you,
to make you happy?
No answer.

The goat is quiet now,
has been for a while,
whispering softly into her hay.
She wanted to be petted,
to know that I am here.

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