'Easy, Boss....So-oo-oo, Boss.'

The small barn is dim, stuffy with rotting wood

the smell of summer hay, urine and fresh excrement

of rich hot cows their breaths meadow-sweet.

The building rustles with little movements

in the rafters, the old plank walls

restive animals cropping in their troughs.

Three sloe-eyed cats sleek with mice and milk

sit and mewl, and they wait

strategically short of an irritated hoof.

The woman settles securely on the three-legged stool.

She heaves her heavy skirts up and aside

baring her ankle boots, her knees, almost her thighs

quickly glancing left and right, and behind

to secure her privacy beyond doubt.

Expertly she wedges the heavy trug between her knees

and strokes the cow's golden flank.

'Easy, Boss. Soo -oo – Boss.'

A mantra sibilant, restful and intimate.

The gentle Jersey shifts and lows softly

its udder swollen, eager for the woman's fingers on its teats.

She begins to caress, pull and press over the wooden pail.

She milks the cow rhythmically, sympathetically

cooing to herself.

She savours the smell of the thick warm milk, the cow's pulsing hide

the pungency of the close barn.

She likes the scent of herself released from thick clothes.

She breathes deeply and speaks softly,

'Ah, Flora Jean, 'tis a fine cow you are.'