Standing At The Wrong Cattle Show Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

I strut about, and look around.
To be seen is my art now.
Yet nobody pays attention to the
efforts composed by my ingenious
mind.
I get on the scale and it squeaks.
Surely confessions of deafness are
what keeps me from being bought.
Now I moo, for I have to be bought.
I am the thoroughbred and proud.
Yet even a bullock with broken horns
will not look at me.

I go to the river where fish swim,
seeing my shadow above the water they dive deeper.
I go to the forest, surely the cows
owned by the farmer know a way to get me
out of this foolish mess that has me bound.
I tell them my mosley bit and they laugh.
You live for hope, patience and endurance.
Still confused, I ask what is wrong with mme. Then I see, I have been standing on
the wrong table at the wrong cattle show.
Time to find the show where mirrors
sing aloud, shouting one name, mine.Should
have read the signs.
And





I

I get