AND THE WINNER IS…

                                        And now these men seem more to me
                                        Like harmless old bees
                                        Gathering the sweetness of the last, thin light
                                        On the only side of the river they know.
                                                 – James Galvin (“Old Men on the Courthouse Lawn,
                                                       Murray, Kentucky”)

Two or three hundred men, women and fidgety children
inside the steamy sale barn, the staccato drone of the auctioneer
amplified to deafness, snare drum in my ears as the pampered,

sleek bulls pass and pirouette before the crowd, orchestrated
by a wary ring man, we take turns stepping out the open doors
to raise an eyebrow, smoke and watch, this old man and I.

A familiar face for years here, I don’t know his name,
neither taking time to introduce ourselves, he knows cattle.
We always say hello, exchange quick clevernesses

and when the last bull sells and the building empties,
we sit on the edge of the concrete pews, smoke and wait
to see which lucky buyer wins the annual saddle.

Today we are closer. He tells me how he loves
a cow sale, hauling cattle from Shasta, Cottonwood
or Famosa since he was eighteen. We both inhale.

He tells me he’s sixty-eight and how many two-by-tens
they’ve replaced in the front row notched by Tom Grimmius,
buying cattle, as we await our moment of silence.

                                                                                for Tom