002
Cow Poetry: Watkins Flat
Poetry
by Bill Babers | 1 Comments
Twenty five miles of wash board
dust plume
gravel road
from the highway around one last curve
before old growth pines
give way to
five square miles of sagebrush
edges blurred by
undulating heat waves
that on this sultry
September afternoon
seems to be
the bovine version
of Times Square
lowing cattle mimic
blaring taxi horns
brown and black steers
like business men in suits
grazing as if finishing lunch
then heading back
to the office.
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