Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

We use to know
Howt o put thinggs down.
People gowin roundd,
Their lives tied behindt em by a spyne of brown strings.

You know we use to know howter kill cows
Wid the back af wharrever, hacking instrument hong at hande
D blunt end woul send your bovine friend awai
So she will not com back fora longg tyme.
So in that tyme as longe, you took excellent care ov her estaite
The horns and steaks te table ate
While shi's gone, til she returns
When you're old ant your world's all yor young wone learns
An told cow come back an says she, 'thanks'
'I appreciated the efficient dispatch'.
How she gloons to see them, kids completed
Kids that cow-Madame herself haz fedd.

And be it forehead uf god, or the middle of d brow of ya reldest cow,
We use to know
D special spots.
The places fork cortingg, and lovingg, and dyingg
The spot betweeain dose dopey grass-my-eyes,
Staring back at yer in e abattoir 
Or th slightly reddedd board in d smokey olt barn.
And yu knew
That if you 'it that spot juss righ
D eyes die inside, no feel, no figh,
Wonn touch, noi much,
An owt went the lights.

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