BLACK PLASTIC

So little water, we left
pasture gates open, turned
ranch management over

to the cows until
December brandings—
forgotten plans

stirred and mixed
to leave with dust devils
for four years straight.

Then so much rain
the rising water
took every fence between

neighbors, cattle free,
to graze up or down
twenty miles of stream

too high to cross
to cut the bull calves
as late as April aspirations

bellowing and packed
into a swaggering
700 pounds.

We wade the creek
repairing watergaps
with black plastic mesh

designed to herd humans,
an experiment worth trying
to run a ranch.