You’ve seen them by the roadside, swishing flies
while munching in slow motion: so much mass
for so few twitches, yet so satisfied,
you simply have to poke them. Nothing else
could lump like that, so fatly dignified.
Let’s stop a second — right there, by the fence,
And try to make it snuffle. If we tied
its tail to something? Or, if we convinced
a bee — you know, the angry cartoon bee —
to sting that bovine bottom?… No, of course
I wouldn’t want to hurt one seriously,
but just to stir it up a bit before
it sags to earth again, the custard cow?
Sorry.  It’s out of sight now anyhow.

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