Four dry cows: two old,
one young and one
whose calf came too early
run together
apart from nurseries
and nosey calves—
four girls content
to be not seen or found
on vacation
in a far corner
of a thousand acres
with water and grass—
hear the diesel purr
and goosenecks rumble
with horses pass
and pretend to be
invisibly still within
an army of oak trees.
They have no calves
to brand, no reason
to be included
and refuse to go easily—
split and make the girls
cowboy-up, leap
brush and rock
and cuss like sailors
in a storm.
for Robbin and Terri
John, this made me smile, thinking of bringing in the horses in Wyoming in the mornings. There’s always a group, led by a ringleader, who hides and doesn’t always come in on the first pass.
janet
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