Poor old Barbara,
calling from the terrace
‘Come and join me – please.’
Even the café cats turn away
and we, selfishly,
ignore the precepts of kindness
use a bland excuse
and continue walking to the car.
Fifty metres on
we start to feel guilty
but it’s too late.
Then later, something white lying in the road,
an injured goat unable to stand.
We stop the car, at least we do that.
‘Kaput!’ says a passer-by