Unloaded into a new world
from the soupy end of a semi,
three clean, black and fat young bulls
spend their first night bewildered
away from home with alfalfa
to rest before I brand and turn them
into families of cows and calves
strung in a line on hay waiting
for their awkward inspection.
It takes time to learn the language
of making love, a prolonged foreplay
of mistakes and miscalculations
as I remember shadows in the 60s,
a fractured bravado ready
for reconstruction any time of day.
An old man worries nonetheless—
checks their progress before dark
confirming they’ve been to water.
Still working on their approach
to young mothers, no seed planted yet,
nothing banked into our future.