kumbaya with the cows

 
my Roots sold the family farm when I was 7
I still remember the auction
it was the closest thing to a county fair I'd ever seen
vendors with food & drinks
and the auctioneer with his magical motor-mouthed cadence
I wandered barefoot through the crowd
agog...
who knew it would be such a spectacle
to me...it was just home
soon to be gone
the cows were the first to go
made me sad to see their familiar faces
peering out the slits in the side of the trailer
I don't even want to contemplate their fate
for us...they were dairy...and friends
we talked to & even rode some of them
sweet Daisy, curious Snoopy...and crabby Bess
had to watch her...she liked to bite
it was the first time I was separated from my cousins
years of always in each other's pockets
suddenly those same spaces would be empty
I didn't know then it would be for the rest of our lives
alone was a very new thing to me
...and not entirely welcome
they were my buffer from abuse
my comrades in all manner of fun
my confidantes...
without them...what would I do
but time passed...we grew
and one day I returned to see that old farm
every memory flooding my mind
as I stared in disbelief
they made a holy roller church out of our 3 story barn
looked like someone dip-dyed the roof
...and tie dyed the sides
took me all of 45 seconds...
...before I laughed so hard I cried
I kept picturing Bess & her moody teeth
us wildly flailing on the hayloft swing
and people praying where cows used to poo
it was a {pardon the pun} unholy mental view
in a way it was a relief
the memories remained untainted
held in loving care by my family & me
thinking about music & song raising those rafters
...seems fitting...
...still causes me mad spates of laughter