The goats on the canvas could be cows.
Look at their udders.
My son comes in; he points and laughs;
he wants to know what they are.
I ask him to tell me what they look like.
His answer is how I’ll decide.
His shrug tells me I should have gone abstract.
I imagine loading a brush, dropping paint
in patterns found in city landscapes or nature.
Cerulean peaks could be mountains
or a sofa, or even breasts. In abstract paintings,
details can be omitted. In other words,
you can leave off the nipples and still have breasts.
And they can be blue.