Moo Read Free

the hog’s back
    and as my father and I battled
    the hog and the cat
    the door opened and
    a long
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  pale
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  thin
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  old
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  wrinkled
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  arm
    reached out and pulled my brother inside
    and my father and I tumbled in after him.

INSIDE
    At the end of the long, thin arm
    was Mrs. Falala clutching Luke
    and kicking the door shut.
    You eez living? she asked.
    Her voice was unexpected,
    full of honey.
    Eez you?
    My father stepped forward.
    Yes, yes, we are, erm, living, yes.
    He handed her two books.
    From my wife , he said.
    She asked me to bring them to you.
    You met her, apparently—
    at the doctor’s?
    Mrs. Falala closed one eye.
    And where eez she, this wife?
    Why she not bring?
    She eez living, yes?
    Yes, yes. She had an appointment today,
    but living, yes, most certainly.
    Mrs. Falala studied the covers of the books.
    Down her back trailed a long, white braid
    which she flicked like a horse’s tail.
    Wrong books , she said.
    Wrong?
    Wrong, wrong, wrong!
    She pushed the books back to my father.
    She turned to me and Luke.
    And you, who are you? And you?
    When we told her our names
    she tapped my forehead.
    Eez peculiar, no? This name Reena ?
    Mrs. Falala caught me trying to peer
    around her into the room beyond.
    She kicked that door closed.
    Eez nothing there. No going in there.
    I glanced at the ceiling, straining to hear
    the sound of the flute
    but there was silence.
    What you eez looking at?
    Shoo, shoo, nothing here,
    good-bye now, go home.
    As we left the house of Mrs. Falala
    seagulls white and gray arrived
    one by one
    and perched on the ridge atop
    her house
    not just a few
    first ten, then twenty, then thirty
    or more
    until they were lined up
    wing to wing
    a row of feathered soldiers
    guarding her house
    and the flute music
    high and light
    floated from the attic window.
    On Luke’s arm
    where Mrs. Falala had held him
    was a pale blue mark
    in the shape of a leaf
    and in the sky two white clouds
    joined to form a flying girl
    long white hair trailing behind.
    The hog and the cat and parrot were gone.
    I listened for them.
    What I heard was the faintest
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  moo, mooooo.

DON’T YOU TOUCH ME
    Luke was not fond of animals.
    He kept his distance
    much as he did with people.
    His first spoken sentence was
    Don’t you touch me.
    He said it to a lady in the post office
    who then looked offended.
    I won’t hurt you, cutie pie,
    the woman said.
    Don’t you touch me!
    My mother offered a weak apologetic smile.
    Luke said it to a grocery clerk
    and an elderly man on the sidewalk
    and the doctor.
    Don’t you touch me.
    He’d point his finger in warning.
    My mother reasoned that Luke just did not
    like people getting in his face
    pinching his cheeks
    squeezing his chubby arms
    telling him how cute he was.
    Don’t you touch me.
    Now that he was older, he rarely said
    Don’t you touch me.
    More often, if someone was swooping in
    too close, he’d scowl or run off or
    say something silly
    like
    Nutto head!
    or
    Frog brain!
    Funny little kid
    people would say.
    When Mrs. Falala had snagged Luke’s arm
    and pulled him inside
    his reaction said it all:
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  wild, wide-opened eyes
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  stiff arms and