I like sheep. There's no pretence
of rugged individualism. They're
ready to follow any set of nobby
knees making haste. With flocks
it's full-on collective, two eyes
become twenty, when there's trust.
Knitted together, each plays a part;
One spins, another cards. I don't
think sheep waste time shitposting
or dogpiling. When someone cries
wolf, bellyaching just leads to new
grass. There's small chance of
tumbling. One after another. Off a
cliff. Not the worst. Plummeting
together. Waves coming at you fast.
Ren Pike grew up in Newfoundland. Through sheer luck, she was born into a family who understood the exceptional value of a library card. Her work has appeared in Whale Road Review, Riddle Fence and Portmanteau LDN. When she is not writing, she wrangles technology and data in Calgary, Canada. http://rpike.mm.st/
More work by Ren Pike
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