I Used to See Her in the Field Beside My House





Perhaps it is the way your nipples,

long like fingers on an open hand,

beckon the tired, huddled, osteoporosis-fearing

masses to your swollen, steaming milk sack. The skin of your huge behind ripples

where giant horseflies understand

only that you taste good, not that they hurt you while you're looking

at the vast and swirling pasture through a crack in your stall. Cow, listen forget the deep pools

of rain that pock the lit, green land-

scape of your youth. Forget the singing

man who rubbed your head. He's readying the rape rack. In the end, you're skinned and processed. A hip pulls

loose, shoulders dismantle in the hands

of some masked worker. Old girl, there is nothing

in this world that loves you back.



Copyright © 2003 Ashley Capps All rights reserved

from And We The Creatures

Dream Horse Press

Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission