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If Sheep Could Only Talk

If Sheep Could Only Talk

Who knows where the sheep go at night? The gate is always open and they are in groups of five or six, and this is going to sound strange, they appear to be gossiping—talking over the nights’ doing, as it were..
When they see me--they spread out—away from their groups. I wouldn’t be surprised if they began whistling to show that nothing was going on but I know better.
I asked Butch, my next-door neighbor, (if you can call ten acres away next door) if he was having the same problem with his sheep but he laughed and asked if I thought they had night jobs or were going to the truck stop and putting out?
There’s no doubt that Butch will be at the barber shop tomorrow getting a trim and spreading the word of my sheep problem and thoughts. I shouldn’t have said anything.
So I stayed up last night with the house lights off and the exterior lights on and I saw Woolly, our sheep dog, the same off white color as the sheep, amble over to the gate, stand up on his hind paws, an…

Tanka Ambulance

  Tanka Ambulance



upside down

at both ends of day,

all these farewells

like one-legged dogs

chasing the horizon



dreams swirl

in a snow globe on the desk…

for a while

I’m a child again

and you are shoveling the drive



two televisions

on the same channel

in different rooms

the only way we know

to echo each other these days



I cannot stand

to be in the room

one moment more

so many faux feelings

behind their rigor mortis roses



no tanka ambulance

with red lights rolling—

yet what of blood

on the battlefield

with no dog tags?



trying to flee

the whirlwind thorns

all about her

the velocity of sorrows

under a stone sky

Darrell Lindsey
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