Prairie Poetry   
  The Farm

raccoon tracks down by the creek . . .
red and black cattle crashing through the grass
bellowing after the tractor,
following the falling hay before the bale is dropped
in the middle of the field.

one new one we call Fuzzy
because he’s fuzzy.
and a good lookin’ bull calf.
which is good.
since the one called Caleb, named after our preacher’s son,
is gone.
didn’t make the grade.
that’s the life of cows.

scratch their heads (when they’ll let you)
feed ‘em cubes.
count ‘em up.
cut ‘em out.
see ya next week, cows. . .
whitetail deer dancing through the edge growth.

  Neal Monroe
  Copyright © 2005 Neal Monroe
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