The cow,
apart from all the other stuff, is an arrow
                          down into the grass-its head
eyes probably excepted, is incidental
                          to the one essential act of its being:
                                       turning the grown and killed earth into it.
                                                    (And by earth I mean planet.)
If it could mow rotatingly or hoover calorific dust, it would,
                                                    or even suck green slime
                          peristaltic through a gurgling tube.
                                      Just so long as it was faster
                          But windblown stems not being convenience food
              it applies itself to the drudge
                          of crop and cud. It can stomach,
simultaneously, a whole day of human meals,
                                     including midnight feast.
                          Lifting its absent head and looking at us is, to this
                                                    a momentary decadance
                                                                 without sense or remorse –

                                     eyes not being mouths,

Milk may be our irony, as herd-keepers, and cheese
                                    our sarcasm,
                          but when we eat it we eat its eating.