Walking The Cow Poem by Robert Rorabeck

We are leading our linoleum cows
Down the compassed hill,
Down to the forever basin
Of the perpetuating sea:
The sun is a mad conductor
Leaping in his bright cauldron,
And little children are playing on the rind:
Secret lovers siesta unnoticed
In the cradled bowers of citrus plantations,
Amidst the shipping trucks and busy work,
While grandmothers leap up barking
That: They still love you,
They still love you:
When they sink again they are never found.
Inside the caves of houses
Housewives are weeping,
They have cut themselves in the
Perforated kitchen,
And their backyards of young Billy-boys
See how far they can stick
Serpentine hoses in the ground,
The curious gudgeonings-
But she who we care about is
Nowhere to be found:
So we go down, down, down.
We are walking the cow.