at the cattle pens
he chooses them by
the curve of thier bellies

calculates thier worth with
sweeping hands he
hovers at thier hind legs
moving methodically
and taking stock

at the cattle pens
he breaks them

but the bay

she slinks back
cracks beneath his saddle
with her back arched
and her teeth bared

and they struggle there
against the bit

she is pressed down deep
heavy as he swings up
scathes her flanks

at the cattle pens
he whips her

he clips her mouth until
the air swells
fills his lungs with her

she is sweet like rolled oats
bitter like a broken woman

and he consumes her

like smoke
she lets her mind go
drift down pound on
the fence around her

at the cattle pens
she waits

07/27/2009

Author's Note: this is a response poem to another that i wrote a few years ago, "hoof split"

Posted on 07/27/2009
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