MONDAY AT THE WATER TROUGH

 

 

 

A mile from any cattle

a gang of three bulls

unloaded at work

on Friday, cows

strung out on hay

before it rained

and muddied roads

to not haul them,

were sparring on Saturday,

bawling and plowing

the new green brown

while the cows

rode one another.

 

Witness for over fifty years

I have my theories

where there is no proof,

I leap to speculation

like Sherlock Holmes

just for the entertainment.

 

The girls and babies

have climbed the mountain

for the new green

protected by old feed

to grow taller,

and the boys too cavalier

or lazy to follow after

their nine-month vacation

on alfalfa.

 

We breed for almost everything

these days: birth weights

and scrotal circumference,

marbling and tenderness,

weaning weights and dollars

(gentle purebred generations

of artificial insemination)

for everything but sex drive.

 

 

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