The Jar Poem by Jenni Besen

My bull is in the kitchen,
he is too quiet, I wander in,
his backside it to me, with its dirty raggly tail
waving gently, left to right, and I see
he is trying to open a jar.
He has a kitchen towel and a butter knife between his hooves,
he can't move, no matter how ready he feels, lacking the needed tools
for opening a jar.
I pat a friendly hello to his rump.
He turns and smiles, his tongue sweeping his nostrils and sneaking back inside his mouth.
Smacking of his lips.
He says,
'I can't open this damn jar. My hands are too weak.'
I answer, 'There are no jars a bull can open.'
Disappointment falls wiht this lashes,
'I guess I will go outside and eat grass.'