Fred vs. The War Club

Fred

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A shadow slinks, a black spinel,
gloom glitters in glassy crystal,
glistening in the onyx midnight;

a round, inky stain by the bush.
Pulse quickens, hand flips cane around,
making it a primal war club;
spread legs, bend knees, breathe, get ready
for — Fred!

Gentle Fred, my pet goat — my pal
who likes to nibble on my ear,
amused, laughing at my fight stance .

Our eyes lock, measuring each
other, his genetic instincts
against mine, but it is no match.

His ancestry million lifetimes
more than mine; which explains, I guess -
why Fred looks at me chewing hay,
while I stand with a club in hand.