Sat upon an empty box of Cheerios and
settled Through the cracks of wooden
floors Forming little cone
mountains Fertile soil on which to rest My
dirty little white stone With dimples to keep
it from Rolling down the dusty
trail Brought such straight rows Like corn
and peas And foot caves in cold dirt And
the sore throat that follows "Everyone always
knew it ended this way, But I still don't
understand why... Milking the cow didn't
work." She was warm and had a
rough Mus-cular tongue for licking Salt
blocks and brown eyes like a cow And her name
was Bossy. We didn't eat her I don't
think sallysally@usa.net
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