The Treachery of Neighbors

We watch from behind
The wire that burns.

Have worried
The proper distance
From their box in the grass,
Its swinging doors.

Sometimes the windows laugh.

The curly cow
Throws cobs we ignore,
Comes and goes;
Glances linger
Over her shoulder.

Every dawn she disappears,
A silver breath cut through pasture,
Returns with many bags.

She chews
A grassy language.
Sometimes moos.

The big bull
And their calves moo, too.

This would be confusing
But for the vacant
Stillness in their eyes.

That we recognize.

Alone, each studies us
And breathes.

They rarely stop
In twos and threes.

How eerie
We never see them eat.

2013

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