Thursday, April 5, 2007

by Joan Dobbie

My Childhood Lamb
was no cliche:

She chased cars, butted babies,
trampled flower gardens
into pulp

A gift from some old farmer
that my father cured

she turned out less a blessing
than a curse, I mean

for Dad

She put his fragile nerves
on such an edge

he had
another heart attack
& almost died

Beware of gifts
my mother used
to always say

You never know
what lies
beneath the wrap