Late June, water scarce for cows
heavy with September’s calf
reclining like hippos in the shade
of thin-leafed oaks. On vacation,
gathered to catch a breeze, they
gossip silently, chew their cuds.
They don’t know, don’t worry,
watch us scurry from the distant
well to tank to empty trough—
listen to us talk with tools
as the morning’s entertainment.
Miles from asphalt, we make
our circles on dirt tracks
from pasture to pasture until
the rains might come November.