Cattle on pasture
wait for a truck
without knowing
their destination,
short-haul west
to Harris Ranch
feed bunks, or
1,500 miles east
to crowded pens
in the corn belt—
they don’t know
they sell
on the Internet
tomorrow.
Heavy steers
asleep now in the dark,
in the dry with
damp green dreams
of another day
like yesterday
where living is easy—
without worry or care.
They have become bored
with being full,
lying in the sandy shade
of sycamores, waiting
for a new zip code.
drycrikjournal 