dusk, goats
stuck in straw
big round bulbs of white light
shines down on the little one
covered in its mother’s birth slime
the squishy “pop” of its arrival from birth canal to asphalt
still loud in my ears.

i am startled by the throw back dress of the goat people:
suspenders holding up pants, 
small smashed-on-heads-hats,
shirtless, sweat, tattoos
cigarettes doing the dangle from the, yep,
heavily tooth-lessed owners

all seem to barely notice, this goat
just born
while we look on, some holding up 
their kids to look, their feet kicking
above the flimsy wire fence

i move on, disgusted not
by birth, or slime
or even dirt smudged and spitting goat people
but the families, oh so all-American, 
at this circus,
this carnival,
this tacky venue hawked
as wholesome,
welcome
an economy boon
educational opportunity
fun fucking outing.

later,
tigers snarl, elephants slow-motion their moves,
the caged ones roar and trumpet behind the tents.

muck, sticky straw, stale oil, greasy lights, 
flaked thick paint once red, now brown,
sticks to our skin as
we make our way through 
the hot summer crowds
on this circus night.