Today the cows stared down my car,
They took a stand this time
And owned the road, that much is true,
And so I’ll tell my rhyme.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I saw the car ahead had stopped
I could not figure why.
The brake lights’ red slowed my own pace
I gave a startled cry:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The cows! They walked right in the road
Of Highway 58
They lumbered forward unconcerned,
Some even stopped their gait.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They showed a total unconcern
For being in the way.
They stopped and noticed scenery,
They munched on road-side hay.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They sometimes nudged the ones ahead,
By butting their behinds,
Or bumped each other with a shove
Like true good-natured kines.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Their ears were tagged with orange tabs
I wondered at these markers,
Perhaps these very cows now walked
Toward all too fatal stockyards!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
If doom would end this march they took,
Their faces did not show it.
They moved in their full prime of life,
Just as their mooing crowed it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And now they came upon my car,
And walked long its sides.
A few looked through the windows
And stared into my eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They showed a peace I’d never felt
And only stood a minute,
Then on they went, right by the car
Forgetting I was in it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And some had calves that walked along
On knobbly-wobbly knees,
And one small calf, all black and white,
Slowed down to look at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This last marcher in the troop
Sported no orange tag.
He was the smallest of that bunch,
So no surprise he’d lag.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He touched his nose to my white truck
Right at the left front tire.
He gave his greeting in this way
And looked a little higher<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And saw me looking back at him
And then he twitched his ears
He hobbled back into the herd
I put my car in gear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I’d never before been stopped this way
And I was happier for it.
They slowed me down, they looked at me,
And I could not ignore it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And later as I drove along
I thought about their faces
How strolling along to an unknown fate
They didn’t rush their paces<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Or trouble deaf heaven with mooful cries
Or kick or bite each other.
They walked their road to walk their road
And did not need another.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Today the cows stared down my car,They took a stand this timeAnd owned the road, that much is true,And so I’ll tell my rhyme. I saw the car ahead had stoppedI could not figure why.The brake lights’ red slowed my own paceI gave a startled cry: The cows! They walked right in the roadOf Highway … Read More<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":974,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-939","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/01\/stijn-te-strake-UdhpcfImQ9Y-unsplash.jpg?fit=640%2C425&ssl=1","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/939","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=939"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/939\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":941,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/939\/revisions\/941"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/974"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=939"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=939"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=939"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
Irena Praitis is a professor of creative writing and literature at California State University, Fullerton, where she has taught for twenty years. She has no idea how that much time has passed! She is the only parent of her son, Ishaan, and they both love to hike in the outdoors in places like Zion, the Grand Canyon, Crater Lake, Joshua Tree, and the street in front of their home.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"