Rough swag

We had just been talking about our days when Peg
showed up at the door with the skull from a goat carcass,
the hair mostly eaten away,
trying to reach with her tongue at what was left of the brains
through some sort of service conduit entrance at the back
at the back of the cranium.
I'd hauled the rest of the frame in two rubber bags to the local market
and convinced them to let me drop it in the pay dumpster just this once.
But the miscellaneous pieces kep poppin up. A forearm and hoof. This head.
Peg, you have a feral glint in yr eye, but you let us love you as a child.
When will you start to take responsibility of yr forays into rough swag?