Panic in the Paddock
You deserve this break, having been up since even the early-bird was still in bed,
Even awake while the stars were still high in the sky
And the moon bathed the grass with its pale white eye.
Moving these animals from their sleeping state,
Off of their beds doubling as dinner plates, doubling as dinner-
Their begrudging moans loud as they leave this place of rest to go to work,
To relieve them of the stress and free them of the weight between their legs for us to taste.
Eventually it’s over, and content they chew
Upon fresh beds whilst content you view your labour, and sip your brew,
Savour the flavour,
And then you relax, drop your guard,
Pat yourself on the back,
Tell yourself it wasn’t so hard
But you hear it – a bolt from the blue-
A single, solitary, forlorn, viscous, drawn out Moo.
And like that it spreads, like spilt milk spreading across a marble floor,
(But this is worth crying for) they take up the call, 1 then 2 then 3 then 4,
Then 40, 100, they move like a flock of sparrows,
Telepathic tether moving them like arrows
To the open gate, the broken wire, the fencepost damaged by a long ago bushfire
Has finally broken and they’ve got out, escaped,
They stream and flow, livestock gushing from a spout and you debate
As you drink up, and wipe sweat from your brow,
Why would anyone want to milk cows?