June 12, 2012 4:58 am
Waist-deep in blond
and empty-headed wild oats,
black cows shine,
fat calves buck and run
like young fullbacks
against the grain
off the mountain
in a dusty cloud
to the corrals
to be weaned
and shipped—prices:
blue sky high.
In 1978, my father
sold his cows, claiming
that a man gets a year
like this only once
in a lifetime—
and he’d had two.
Posted by John
Categories: Poems 2012
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Beautiful! May the stars align like this a few more times in your lifetime. You deserve it!
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By Shirley Kirkpatrick on June 15, 2012 at 12:49 pm
That is the cattle business! And farming also.
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By John Kirkpatrick on November 7, 2013 at 6:22 pm