Comments about Jan FitzGerald
Cows slow the car to an indolent amble,
surround us with the pink mammary smell
Don't mind us, they say, and we won't mind you
as long as you fall in behind,
learn how to cow-walk,
watch the marking of non-time
with our metronomic tails...
And what are you doing in that glass cage, anyway?
A bony head looms alongside
turning a neck a child would love to swing from,
a neck of teddy bear hair and old hay.
Her breath mists the window,
eyelashes come down
like slow camera shutters.
Never mind, never mind, it ...