Buck writhes in piss — to please his dames!

To set the scene for fun and games

This goatish version of cologne

Creating a romantic tone

That could draw does from far and wide

IF they weren't penned, awaiting rides

From human keepers who have found

Goat lust is best kept underground

Best managed by infrequent dates

With goatherd Tinder finding mates

Capricious trucks bring yearning does

To buckish buck, and off he goes

Providing sperm at pre-paid rates

A moist exchange behind locked gates

And then — the does get driven home

Leaving the rancid male — alone.

Of course females don't get to choose —

Enforced encounters, win or lose

Depending on goat luck, or fate

Still, seems that dainty does' lives rate

Much higher than the male ones can

With choice of brisk castration plan

Curved knife, the "painless" rubber band,

The crush techniques (as yet unscanned)

Or death right now, before their meat

Gains male taint and, no longer sweet

Cannot be sold — even a goat-meat fancier

At pungent buck meat will demur

"It's vile!" "It stinks!" "It makes me sick!"

Unlike fugu, there's no wild kick

To dining on this special flesh

Infused with stench instead of death

No big thrill here, just shared disgust

At billies' blend of piss and lust

Male boldness, cleverness, stark need

Keenness to spar and sport and feed

Buck traits just don't draw human fans . . .

Is male life best at shortest spans

A kiss before dying? An also-ran case?

Opt-out from our survival race?

***

Thanks for reading — part 4 follows.