There are many places
I’ve been, many more
I’d like to see, yet habit
and finances have me
wearing down the side
walks of my neighbor
hood in much the same
way that my father’s
cattle beat grass down
into dirt paths; along
fencerows most often,
but occasionally, into
the thicket and all the
way in to the shadiest
tree, next to which a
cow-sized silhouette
is revealed, mostly
just loose dirt, around
which a few tufts of
grass and trodden
winter leaves sur
round an earth in
dentation sculpted
by a sleeping heifer
leaving a cool
rural cul-de-sac.
