The cow
Ruminant
In non-idyllic field
Grinds her back teeth on corn
All day long
And doesn’t give one cow pie
About how sublime
the yogurt I made of her stolen wares
Topped with jammed berries
tastes to me
As I grind my teeth unnecessarily
Through her cultured cream
Strained of its whey
Not giving two shits about her
Because when I think of her
It’s not even her
It’s just an idea of her
And as aware of her conditions I am
I will make more sublime yogurt
And she will make more cow pies
And we will grind our apathies in our back teeth
And we shall take in another bite.