cowboys

tall tales from the days of my adolescence

we spent the 

weekend

taser-gunning 

the cows

Billy rigged up

a bathtub

in the pasture

where we heated

the water to a boil

and gently

placed them in

 

their soft smiles

thanked us

and a foamy grey film

bled out as they

sunk below 

the surface

 

Billy retched

and I told him

to be calm 

it’s just

the final essence of

their kindness rising

I said

their inner milkiness

 

then a ruby-throat

came to draw in

the nectar from a

cluster of bee balm flowers

immortalized in mid-air

and still more cows

wandered forward

 

in their smoky flatulence

we found

alphas and deltas

that we arranged

into formulas

on a tarnished

silver plate

and as the campfire embers

glowed deep red and

our sleeping sacks

beckoned to us

 

we drank down the

final gulps of

hot miner’s tea

 

and Billy pronounced it

“more of the stuff

that made Rome great”

Reviews

[Eilis]

This made me think of that idea of the banality of evil. Natural selection even— as it’s been adapted to human purposes. The many ways horrific things are reasoned through and, in time, become something we are numb in the face of.

The voice of almost excitement and detachment set beside the action of the poem is reminiscent of a lot of the political rhetoric that has become so prevalent. If the object “of desire” becomes something that can’t feel or whose feelings don’t deserve consideration then anything is possible. The heart closes and rationality becomes rabid, absolute. Rationality can be cold or self-serving. Compassion requires identification with the other—whether that be animal or refugee or any other number of possible vulnerabilities.

Billy’s statement cements the idea for me. All things in the name of some “great purpose.” Brutality is a virtue for the powerful and sometimes the powerful party is a child stomping an anthill. The brutal idea presented in this whimsical way is powerful in itself. Jarring, but you doubt that’s the emotion you’re meant to feel. It’s the confusion of being human.

[SkinlessFrank]

I always enjoy your analyses. This is a "mean" poem, no doubt. It comes from that place where the consciousness is not fully formed...when a boy can taunt a cow or a a turtle or an ant with no remorse. I was surely guilty of this and to tame the guilt, invented songs and rhymes...part of me thinking back to a past that I hope I can say is past. But you are right about the political. In the place where I live the "other" is now the immigrant. The immigrant is never granted humanity, remains an object. That political attitude as you say has “great purpose.”

[Kenneth The Poet]

You take such stark images and weave them into works on par with Dylan the minstrel. That last line makes me think of Rome as its about to be sacked by vandals. I'm not sure why that is, but poetry is supposed to do that, take your mind and being to places you don't expect. At least that's how my mind works. Great work all around.

[J]

OMG this has the Skinless Frank essence bubbling within the grey film and flatulence and my heaving belly. I remember the first piece of yours I read and laughed my arse off. This is no exception. You are carbon amongst the diamonds, dear D. xx

[Davidgeo]

Yay... a murder poem without valor. It's actually very fine work.

[roarke]

um, being a city boy originally... I'm a little at a loss. I'm familiar with miners lettuce, but tea? One of the things I enjoy about your writing Frank is the mystery and intensely intimate symbolism. It sticks with you, maybe haunts the reader and later, enhances his perceptions.