Five stray cattle
Came rambling
Down the calle
Last night
As I smoked
Under the full moon
They grazed
On the neighbor’s lawn
Stealthy—they stomped
In silence, the new palms
Just planted, struggling to
Survive the dry season, the
Wind, the odds against them
Sometimes the only
Way to know
What will grow
Is to watch
How many ways it can die
Sometimes
The only way
To know
A thing
Is to observe
What it leaves behind
Some destroy
Some create
Some love
Some hate
How conscious is the cow
Of the steaming pile
It left as evidence
Of its presence
Equally, I presume;
as the poet.
Chuckling.
Love it.
Is that my first funny poem? Damn, I need to lighten up yo.
Can’t say it’s the first funny. Maybe it just took a cow-pile reference to get the farm boy’s attention?
LMAO! That is AWESome but how can this possibly be my first cow-pile reference?!