6
February
2009
February
2009
Amishland Cow Tipping
It does not matter that the chirping dusk crickets have not stilled,
though twilight fails, gives way to moonless night,
and the dew seeps into our canvas shoes.
Space
Shhhh…we warn each other and look past the barn
to where the kerosene eyes of the farmhouse shut with sleep.
With this unspoken permission, I lift the tense barbed wire.
You slip under; I follow.
Starry night illuminates our path,
leads the way between the burn hazel, thistles and dung
to the sleeping cows, bovines content
in their idyllic pasture and dreams.
SpaceSpace
We carefully creep to the chosen one. W
e lean, the push,
her black and white frame topples,
startles her awake to see
the world sideways.
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