Fellow Kossack on the cusp wrote a diary, My Dad stole Boney the cow. Most deservedly, it glitters in the middle of the rec list, like the toy you always wanted.
I read the diary and fell in love with Boney and wrote a poem about her and on the cusp's Dad and my Dad and light and air and water and soil.
This might be Boney but probably isn't:
All of my poems are about light and air and water and soil, not necessarily in that order.
To read this one, look below the impressionist cheese doodle.
Boney the cow is with us,
as is your dad.
In every bit of cheese,
dab of butter,
glass of milk,
they are present.
They nourish us, protect us and lead us ever onward.
Our fathers reside in the dust,
where water and sunlight bring forth hay
to wave in the cool of morning.
The children of Boney munch and ruminate
In the swelter of Texas noon they chew the cud of all the ages
And drop the sweet stinking mess that shares their bounty
with the birds and beetles and worms.
Stir me into the dust when I die,
I will bring forth watermelon vines
and pecan trees
and sweet alfalfa for the Clan of Boney.
7:18 PM PT: Rec list? I bask in on the cusp's reflected glory.
Thank you.