Farming

But oh – the soil is like sand,

damn-useless land!

Flowers and veggies try,

then shrivel and die.

I work the garden, adding compost,

things like toast,

eggshells, coffee grinds,

even old rinds.

One old farmer said,

“Owning a cow would fix this homestead.

She would give the fertilizer you need,

it would be her you would feed.”

“What the hell!” I thought.

“Really?  Why not?”

I already have hens and a rabbit ,

being odd is now a habit.

To a buy a calf, I went to Maine;

where calf-buying isn’t quite insane.

As it is North of Boston ,

around here they don’t sell them too often!

This farmer had to be ninety-two,

when he saw me he didn’t know what to do.

He looked at me, then at the van,

exclaiming, “I really don’t understand!”

After a thorough investigation,

I broke past his hesitation.

My father knew his late son,

relatives worked for another one.

When I lifted the little calf,

he had to laugh.

“You’ll do – I guess,

I just hope he doesn’t make a mess!”

At home, we settled the little one into the shed,

let’s call it a barn instead.

He needed to have the company of another,

so we bought him a mother.

My sweet, sweet, Shasta!

Oh –  she fills the pasture.

I say I bought her for manure,

but of that I am not so sure.

Gardening brings me peace,

but milking this beast…

There are no words to explain how,

how it is to be centered by a cow!

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