Here’s another poem I must have written between 2000 and 2011. Sorry to share old poems, but I am finding myself writing more and more at the moment.
I’ve always avoided them.
Perhaps it’s their udders. The heavy, plump with milk, proud
Shit-stained udders. The way
They look at you all wrong, their lashes fluttering.
I know all about cows. Their four stomachs, their manicured hooves, the shit
They eat nowadays. The way they are always forced to do it against their will
(And it never lasts long enough) and end up barefoot and pregnant,
Boundaries always changing.
(c) Becky Deans