Chèvre

Chèvre

I moan softly,
stomach's empty,
teats are ready,
udder full.

Where are your hands to milk me?

You slice the soft brown cheese,
and garnish thin crisp bread
to feed yourself,

not me. What would you do
if I sprang a leak,
exploded, or refused to eat?

You'd eat white salty crumbs,
then none.

Chèvre, feta, gjetost too
all come from me
and mine
to you. So feed me,
milk me,
make goat cheese.

And when lips smack,
remember me!