Ram

by Graham Turner

Only Kenny knows
whose ram it was,
a four-horned Heb that
upped and tupped
and signed off out
up atop the croft
and out of sight:
until, weeks after,
they're calling me to
'get the gate, man!'
but I've got nowt -
I'm naked, no horns
no hook nor crook:
I cannot help.
I'm rattled but
the ram's wrestled
to the threshold
and the rest
is swiftly settled.