by Ben Virgin

On another American highway
This time, in Washington, between gas stations
Between opioid abuses 

Among the rolling and empty hills
I saw a big brown bull cow 
Standing in the misty distance.

This cow, larger
Than any I had ever seen
Graceful lonely.

O! Silent creature! 
I wish we’d go no farther,
I’d like to look into your knowing black eyes.

As we approached and the fog cleared
I realized my cow was
No cow at all

Rather, a brown boulder
Tumbled down as from
Some high red peaks.

Closer still and
It too,

A bush.
Brown because
It was dead.

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