October 29, 2015

October 29, 2015


There is much to envy
cows content with fate,
grass at their feet, shade,

water, friends close—
no one preaches more
nor promises relief.

They’ve left irrigated
green for dry ground,
tall, brittle stems

fold beneath bellies
growing with calves
for the first time.

Under sycamores,
112° churns,
burns on a breeze

out of the south,
too hot to find
the open gates

to their new home
as mothers nursing
new life, new love,

devotion on the fight.
There is a place they go
if need be: head low,

blood in their eye,
red swirls in brown
pulsing towards crimson.

They will learn
to bellow and bawl,
shake and salivate

and come to the call
of others, like family,
within 45 days, well

before the vote
and victory dances
beyond this world.


2 responses to “THIS WORLD

  1. Peter Notehelfer

    An exceptionally compelling poem for this season of our discontent . . .

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you, Peter. Not only do I envy cows, but every living thing that is not aware of the spectacle of U.S. politics, that goes on about its business of survival like every other day. Of course I care, I’ve packed my placards, written politicians over the years, by like Sisyphus, I find the rock is always there.


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