A reef of lacy coral tore
The belly from a wooden boat
and breakers ferried two ashore:
one cabin boy, one nanny goat.
The isle was greened with gra** and scrub
which pleased the goat, so long confined
although the boy could only grub
for scraps the brine had tossed aside.
A sack of wheat, a box of tools,
a keg of rum to dull the grief
but most supplies were sunk in pools
or wedged in fissures on the reef.
The boy eked out his meagre fare
with bitter berries, tender shoots
and mutton birds he trapped in snares
and roasted whole with starchy roots.
He ground the wheat to make a flour
and soon a tempting fragrance spread
which drew the goat in half an hour
towards the bribe of fresh baked bread.
Her eyes were yellow candle light
her breath as warm as bu*tered toast
but soon the winter winds would bite
and then he'd need a cashmere coat.
Her lower jaw slid side to side;
he met her horizontal stare
and while she ate he knelt beside
and slowly clipped her shaggy hair.
It took a week to spin the yarn
and fashion knitting pins from wood
and one more week to stitch and darn
the front to back with sleeves and hood.
She charged him in a show of scorn
and smacked him with her lowered head
and though he swore he'd have her horns
he whittled bu*tons from wood instead.
They hunched to counter winter's nip
and shared some bread, baked crusty brown;
their jaws creating rhythmic clicks
hers side to side, his up and down.
In early Spring he saw a ship
and struck his flint to spark a blaze
and watched a boat risk reef and rip
to rescue two young castaways.
He chose to leave and she to stay
a taste for freedom in the blood
and as she watched him bob away
she ruminatively chewed on cud.
The boy became a man of lore
who crafted fables, ably wrote
and kept in some forgotten drawer
a wooden-bu*toned goat hair coat.