A poem for my dead cow: 09/03/2014 Your beast marked on its forehead is dead. Flies are having an expensive festive, their stomachs bulging like famished children. You remember when she fell in the drain Filled with wasted water from the last rains this was the time she used to be roped but she escaped, unscathed Do you still remember her desperate watery eyes? And that day, was it Wednesday? It was on a resting day, I remember now The day Benz calved The day she jumped the fence, leaving it lying like an animal skin left to dry in the sun, Do you still remember my son? It was the first day you separated the two, And before I forget, she was pregnant too.
Posted on: Tue, 11 Mar 2014 06:57:36 +0000
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