Look straight into the obsidian eye,
observe the strutting posture
buttoned up in her sheen,
a black aura from her scabby heart
to the tip of each honed feather.
A keeper of kept secrets
seen in the quiet cow fields,
scrolling boney shanks
under four chambered bellies,
picking through warm scented dung
for seeds and insects,
mulling an impending treachery.
Riding the rusty undulations
of a wire fence
breaking into notes
of unapologetic ebullience,
an unrepentant offering of song.
Seeing you for what you really are…
should we overlook?
What pastoral would be complete
without you?
What cow calmed?

By Joyce Joslin Lorenson

Joyce Joslin Lorenson lives in Rhode Island, grew up on a dairy farm and records the daily happenings in nature around her rural home. She has been published in several print and electronic journals.

One thought on “Cowbird

  1. The ending to this poem is great. It connects the reader, allows me in. Any poem that allows the reader inside is a very good poem. Each question is smaller than the above but no less meaning. Well tapered, good work

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