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?