
Cow in Calf
It seems she has swallowed a barrel
From forelegs to haunches
her belly is slung like a hammock.
Slapping her out of the byre is like slapping
a great bag of seed. My hand
tingled as if strapped, but I had to
hit her again and again and
heard the blows plump like a depth-charge
far in her gut.
The udder grows. Windbags
of bagpipes are crammed there
to drone in her lowing.
Her cud and her milk, her heats and her calves
keep coming and going.
Ein Gedicht aus der Sammlung „Death of a Naturalist“, veröffentlicht im Jahr 1966. Der heutige Blog-Eintrag ist Roland und Claudia Shepherd gewidmet.

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