The Lambs
by J. R. Solonche

Already marked
for death by circles
of day-glo green
sprayed on their fresh
woolen haunches,
they gallop in the muddy
yard of the barn, in pairs,
or singly, next to the fence
or the water trough.
Like strange, miniature horses,
they buck and jump straight up
as though saddle-strapped,
and their shadows,
which are the ghosts
of strange, giant horses,
are already across the road,
making for the open meadow.