The Mule

What they could do they did. Two years
Almost every day the talk was of what
To do about it, thoughts being smashed together
And their electricity swept under the kitchen table.
A few local remedies seemed for a few days
To work, but piece by piece still
Their daughter would change and one day
The last of it came over and the daughter
Was a mule. For a time they tried
To hold the condition as changeable, would have
No doubt if the girl’s room had not been
On the second floor left her there,
Pretended perhaps for as long as it might take
That nothing had happened. A month
They kept her downstairs, but the furniture
No matter how it was set was always
In the many wrong places, chairs looking
For a rear hoof and the doorways misplaced.
The back of the barn was painted pink,
Stuffed animals, wall posters and the phonograph
Brought down from her old room – but even then
The feeding, hygiene and everyday upkeep
Fit a mule better than a daughter, and the family
As well as the neighbors could see the outcome.
Farms these days are machinery and news
Of a mule in a man’s barn travels.
Not long and the McClellan boys will sneak
Half drunk in and take her for a ride,
With the sheriff calling next morning
Her father to say come get your mule,
It’s loose on the courthouse lawn.
The pink paint will not be renewed.
Stuffed animals, phonograph will go out
To the trash as they variously get in the way.
The parents will think less of the girl, more
Of the mule, come to terms of it and not she.
One day another man will come into the kitchen
And note the family has no use for a mule
On this land, and offer pleasantly to take the animal
Away, even pay a little for it. If not
With this man, with one of the next
A deal will be made. No questions asked:
What can be done and what can’t
And a slap on the animal’s rump as it is led
Easily, perhaps in numb happy quickness, away.

Copyright 1990 Calliope