He can’t be as old as grandpa, can he?
I am talking about grandpa’s he-goat.
But he is too old to follow the flock.
Each time I’m on my way to school,
He stares at me with fire-red eyes
And scratches his back with his spiral horns
He walks backwards and bleats
As I get nearer and nearer to him.
Maybe he wants to warn me
That if I get too close, I could be gored.
But I am not scared of an old goat
Though I know from experience
How he-goats hit each other to nose-bleeding.
I have seen them raise their forelegs
Slowly and fiercely approach each other on their hind legs
And bang! they collide head-on!
You would think they are mad beasts.
If they should miss each other,
And catch you in the cross fire, You would have to have your limbs in plaster
And be absent from school with no one to play with.
I wonder when the goat goes to graze.
It is there when I go to school,
it will be there when I return.
And its eyes are still as though
It nourishes itself on hard mbanje!