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
              murder.
                          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
beast,
                                                    a momentary decadance
                                                                 without sense or remorse –

                                     eyes not being mouths,
                                                                              unfortunately.

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