desertscorpionweed

#9 | Tales of milking cows with Grama

#9 | Tales of milking cows with Grama

deep etched, the skin less wrinkled at the wrist,
where the scar remains
from when the hay wagon toppled over,
she smiles, creases in her brow, remembering

always keep working—
idleness doesn’t favor—
whistle while you work

that’s what echoes the empty house
where her soft footfalls sometime pass
a rhyme in her step

let me tell you what
milking cows at 4 am taught me—

she’d tell me—bouncing me on her lap
like a galloping horse
and I a child of 12—erupting with giggles.
she’d watch me fall between her legs,
until we’d gallop along—horses on a journey
with sunsets to lead us.

The first time she fell on me,
I knew she felt sorry, Ol’ Bessie—
she looked back over her shoulder, mid-cud-chew,
with a startled face—

and that time I milked Henry,
with his tail swishin’ anxiously—
I should have known,
he kicked the pail from underneath me
when I stood to grab it he caught me
with his hoof, sent me flying into the
manure dugout—
I couldn’t get out, you see.

Ew, Grama! Gross!
And I leaned back in her lap, wiggling my toes,
forcing her to bounce me—

The only one home that day was little Fred,
because he had rickets.
It was my turn to take care of him that day—
all the others were at the schoolhouse
miles away.
So I had to wait for sunset,
until someone could help me climb out.

The third time it happened,
we were in an open pasture filled with purple violets—
a sea of blooms.
I was leading her home with the rope,
but she was as stubborn as a mule.
They say that, you know,
because a mule never does want to listen.
As I tugged on her rope,
her head tilted forward.

When I came to her rear end, we were very close,
Daisy and I—
I gave her a little push.
Not a budge.
So then I decided to milk her,
because I knew it might calm her down.
As soon as I began to tug at her teats,
she took one step and moved sideways,
toppling over on top of me.

I lay flat in the grass,
but before I could blink—
she turned her head back to look at me
and stood right up again—
as if she knew.

I wasn’t hurt at all,
but I still remember to this day,
the look she gave me. As if to say—
Pardon me! I’m sorry!

The chair began rocking again and
Grama stared out the glass window
where some chickadees gathered at the feeder,
and the smallest one splashed itself in a puddle from the recent rain.
4.5.15

#8

Calling all city dwellers, if you were starving
why wouldn’t you kill a pigeon to survive?
Chop off the head–
tear off its wings?
Why wouldn’t you roast him over a fire pit, pleased with your kill?
{What is wrong with survival anyways?}

Why do we call
pigs pork
cows beef
and chicken is still chicken?
because its a bird? Like a pigeon?

We allow distance–
to push {reality}
our meat, of
{factory farmed meat.}
on sale prices, the bargain bin
who knows where they really came from.
Displaced
leaking red packages
behind generous bright bulbs
grocery store conglomerates hide
the slaughterhouse.

We never say
for dinner tonight I will have pig flesh and innards.
{Italian Sausage and Bacon!} Open yermouthwide  f  a  t   t    y!

We like fancy words like
Filet Mignon and Pork Tenderloin.

I see nothing wrong with eating an animal
eating meat

if we stop

distancing

ourselves.

Factory farms prosper
while we gorge.  
Big green bills glisten.

ignorance is bliss when it’s cheap and hidden behind the shiny yellow “M”.
{stands for} massacre and that telltale crunch

in those allbeefpatties “special” sauce & bun
maybe we’re a little apprehensive
Don’t feel.  Don’t think about it.

Maybe the fast food billboard bus ad bench advertisement should read:

Cheap animal flesh for sale! Dollar menu patties raised in airtight conditions, darkness, in the smallest space possible!
All you can eat while its hot!
Frozen and compact,
washed with ammonia,
just so YOU won’t get sick!

#7

Behind thick plexiglass

this is the letter
to my elementary school teacher
written on the field trip permission form:
I don’t visit zoos,
because they make me sad,
especially when the lions pace the length of their cage.
I refuse to see the dolphins at Seaworld, because I know that fake dolphin smile;
they’re not happy most of the time.
Behind thick plexiglass,
killer whales do attack people,
and Free Willy isn’t as dated as you think.

“Prayer In C” by Lilly Wood

Okay, for the record it is not a poem.  But song lyrics can sort of blur the lines a bit.  I really enjoy this song as well as the beat, strangely enough.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fiore9Z5iUg

Yah, you never said a word
You didn’t send me no letter
Don’t think I could forgive you

See our world is slowly dying
I’m not wasting no more time
Don’t think I could believe you

Yah, our hands will get more wrinkled
And our hair will be grey
Don’t think I could forgive you

And see the children are starving
And their houses were destroyed
Don’t think they could forgive you

Hey, when seas will cover lands
And when men will be no more
Don’t think you can forgive you

Yah when there’ll just be silence
And when life will be over
Don’t think you will forgive you

Yah, you never said a word
You didn’t send me no letter
Don’t think I could forgive you

See our world is slowly dying
I’m not wasting no more time
Don’t think I could believe you

Yah, you never said a word
You didn’t send me no letter
Don’t think I could forgive you

See our world is slowly dying
I’m not wasting no more time
Don’t think I could believe you

Yah, our hands will get more wrinkled
And our hair will be grey
Don’t think I could forgive you

And see the children are starving
And their houses were destroyed
Don’t think they could forgive you

Hey, when seas will cover lands
And when men will be no more
Don’t think you can forgive you

Yah when there’ll just be silence
And when life will be over
Don’t think you will forgive you