An Angus steer
swung its head around the corner
of the door into the bedroom.
It stared at me, black glass eyes
catching spots of tiny white from the window.
I got out of bed and patted it, it
seemed so calm, smooth hide rippling
under my hand.
I could have slaughtered it and eaten like a king
for months but
when it turned and went out into the yard
through a door I’d obviously
forgotten to lock last night, I followed as far as the porch
and from there
watched it join its herdmates grazing
on the meager back lawn.
I’m no cowboy, I decided then and there,
I’ve got no reason to try and control
such a thing as a herd of cattle that know enough
to visit me when I am at my least warlike.
If I had woken up at some point and realized
that a piece of a dream was presenting itself to me, its neck
and veins exposed, I do not know what might have been:
I might have lived longer and fatter on the leavings,
the marbled flesh, the creamy waxen lines in the red muscle;
but I would never have seen where this came from:
the lawn I had neglected allowing sustenance for mouths
I couldn’t understand except as fodder.
The cattle moved off down the driveway into the street, and all I could do
was wave my hat at them. Git along, I said,
git along, it’s all misfortune here,
and none of your own. Go find another lawn to graze.
I’ll keep the door open for you.
Dark Matter 