Chupacabra Eats Barbequed Cabrito

Clarence Wolfshohl

September 15, 2024

He thinks of the goat

out at the roadhouse bar 

that drinks beer for the laughs

of the other two-legged drinkers of beer.

The owner of bar and goat

fixes a big pot of frijoles, barbeques

over a mesquite fire, and starts

the goat off by setting a longneck

on the ground so the goat can lip 

it up and chugalug all twelve ounces

at once.  Then the patrons keep

buying it beer all night long.

The goat bleats—a sound

Chupacabra loves to hear,

music to his ears above Willie

and the Flatlanders on the jukebox.

He’d prefer the goat uncooked,

steaming blood dribbling down

and clotting in his chin hairs,

but cabrito is fine and Chupacabra

is nothing if not obliging.

Native of San Antonio, Clarence Wolfshohl has been active in the small press as a writer and publisher for sixty years.  More recently, he has published in Southwest American Literature, The Mailer Review, New Texas, New Letters, and Texas Poetry Assignment.