The goat’s not listening.
Let’s name him

George, the name you give
all permutations

of my chin hairs when
you can see them &

maybe no one else can.
George, dear George,

a whitewashed Jesus
with yellow horns,

red mouth, blue eyes,
& here’s variation

on the myth, mandible
pinpricked, pimpled.

George, he’s no Flossie
icon on the screen,

bounding in wait for
the next move. No,

he’s more of a body
found in a bin

of Rubik's Cubes & hearts.
George enacts the daughter’s

new language as if
to daughter the daughter

in cursive curl. George,
doll, dots right here,

me & the mirror
flecked with grease.