John Rowe
Cow Poem

I approach field of the poem
with breath of country air
and one cow not to be slaughtered
standing in the middle of
the deep green grass

where she continually grazes
even when I walk into shaded space
beside her black and white hide.
The bovine freely roams throughout

frame of this poem
but stays focused on consuming vegetation
one corner of an acre at a time,
unmovable once territory is claimed

except to shift her weight ever so slightly
when wind pushes tall blades
away from her mouth.
As I try to think of a name for her

by speaking a few out loud,
she stops, raises her head
and with shy, startled, happy eyes
looks at me as if the world is changing

and licks whiskers off my face.
That thick tongue doesn’t linger—
quickly turns attention again to
surrounding lush plot

and it is time I start to walk
toward my own amplified hunger
as the cook rings the chow bell
in the distance.

Taking a final look over my shoulder
at that one cow,
I see the grass is shorter
in patches all around the landscape

and as sun begins to set
on horizon of this poem
that dear creature,
nudging my words to the side,
has yet to get her fill.

<< return to the Table of Contents for New Series #9: Summer 2020, Volume 5 Number 1