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