Oyster Boy Review 14  
  Winter 2001
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» Levee 67



Shelby Stephenson

Hair hackled, front legs flexed
he arched his back to poise
the neighbor boy
off the high porch when Uncle drove
up in his new used peagreen Firechief Pontiac,
Palm Beach suit, Panama hat, Italian desert boots.
He'd had a nip or two
toddy for the body
Billy stetched and
straightened his tail in a beeline when
he saw his reflection in Uncle's car
running up over the hood
the hard rapid light patter of hooves in a
sort of buttroll whipping and whirling about the top,
feet every which way flashing tail twitching pills
let's play doctor
he got his monkeywrench lunged after Billy—
we chased Uncle in our heads
trying to give him some pills,
the wrench already missing the goat
when all in a diving woosh and
swurge behind the biggest oak in the yard
Billy bleated at Uncle climbing in his automobile,
a cluster of goatballs
under the seat of his Palm Beach pants.