They come to recognize me now,
weaned calves around the feeder
as I unfold bales of leafy alfalfa,

watching busy hands and the attitude
of my hat, slowly lifting downcast
eyes to ask, ‘How’re we doing?’

Startling at first, this all-inclusive
‘we’—the clouds of grasshoppers,
swarms of bugs, the late spring rains.



                    I slip off in 100-degree heat
                    with a Kubota-load
                    to change my water
                    on the pasture
                    because we can’t
                    do it all when it’s cool.

                    Gray Whiskers.
                    Old Scaly Face,
                    layer after layer
                    of new peels away

                                        in that zone
                                        near delirium

                    where we ignore the sun,
                    they like statues crowded
                    ‘round Old Shirttail Out—

                                        gravity, always
                                        gravity pushing
                                        my pants down,
                                        pulling at my flesh,
                                        wanting it back.



If they were people,
I’d tidy-up,
unbuckle and unbutton,
start over again,
but this is how they see me:


consistent and congruent
they can trust
since losing mamas
they have forgotten
in this brave new world.

One response to “BRAVE NEW WORLD

  1. I love your writing…I can just see those hungry calves with those great big beautiful eyes. Thanks, John


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.