So I was thinking

A bad idea at the best of times-

of the ice which coated the air in the barn

and it's something that renders a break in the lines

of comfort and calm and the pride in the work

of the toil and the strongest of smells and the dirt

and the smile you get when you stroke a sweet calf

the cold sets it off and convulses your bones

you stare at them all like they're ruminant clones

when the bitter iced coils start biting your skin

when your hair stands erect like straight silver pin

there's a miserable malice seeping out from within

scoop up some manure and stand waiting again

you're a slave to the compressions of a bovine's rear end

the sawdust is working to enter your lungs

and they're licking your palms, try to extract a bite

puts a strain on the passion you might have once sung

the love and your bloodless extremetiies fight

you can care for this heifer or run straight away

but the innocent look in their eyes beg you "stay"

since your heart's in your legs, you will always obey