There is a hill with a house,
goats graze in a green pasture.
They are my responsibility
When the righteous priest comes with his red ribbon
I will run him through with a pitchfork,
pin him to a tree before he touches one hair on one goat.
Their yellow eyes follow me as I prowl the pasture,
teeth and blade bared, wearing the pelt of a skinned wolf.
The goats are not afraid.
We bleat under the rising moon before the sun has set.
I hang a hag-stone in the west window,
burn sage to ward off evil.
Josie Moon is a poet, performer and community arts practitioner based in NE Lincolnshire. Josie writes about myth, memory and the psycho-geography of places on the edge. She has published four collections of poetry and is working on a novel. www.josiemoon.co.uk