10-20-21 [POEM TWO]

by B.A. O’Connell

They call me goatsucker —
but maybe I’m just a mangy
hungry dog —

I’ve been wandering the southwest
for as long as I can remember;
the taste of blood is thick
on my ever drying tongue

and I howl for the rains just
like all the rest —
they shoot me for the ranch house

and my blood leaves
me quicker than the truths
of who I’ve been and what I was meant for —

I hope the goats I’ve killed,
all that livestock sent on, waits for me
in my own private afterlife.

When a pivotal moment in B.A’s youth caused them to turn to poetry with serious intent, they were changed. Today, they often pen four to eight poems a day. B.A’s poetry and blog focuses on poems and art centring around trauma, recovery, and mental health. B.A also touches on themes of abusive, obsessive, and unhealthy relationships and the pain of moving on from them.