Bayfield Cows

Kenneth Pobo

It’s hard to
have a heart to heart
with a cow,
explaining that
while cows
are like beautiful
brown ships
sailing through red
dusk, they
can be a nuisance,

nuisance.  They roam our streets
as they see
fit.  One brilliant cow
she got shot
and died
in the
Presbyterian Church yard.
Women in
long dresses peeve
when cows
splat on wood sidewalks.

gangsters run the town.
We don’t
scare them.  We think
modern.  After all,
it’s the
late 1800s.  Progress
merchants’ bald heads.
Loggers make
homes possible

far from
where Lake Superior,
The Great
Unsalted Sea, freezes
so that we
can walk to Madeline Island,
no fear of
sinking.  Spring
cinnamon ferns,
more cows
like gods that stare
through our
open windows.

Kenneth Pobo had three new books in 2015: When The Light Turns Green
(Spruce Alley Press), Bend of Quiet (Blue Light Press), and Booking
Rooms in the Kuiper Belt (Urban Farmhouse Press).  He teaches creative
writing and English at Widener University.  He gardens, is somewhat of
an authority on Tommy James and the Shondells, and read Hardy’s
Return of the Native this June.

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