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.