An idyllic scene
Of pastoral perfection—
This shot soon dissolves.
Admittedly, this poem seems to be based on the once-idyllic pasturing of cattle. I was one of the hood-winked back in those days—trying to make sense of the scare, but unaware of what was really going on. Now, I know better. Nonetheless, this poem was meant to express my loathing of this disease and my fear for those animals affected.
I am one of those people who stops by roadside fences to watch these creatures. I have visited organic farms, full-knowing what happens to these animals after only a short time. Still, I wanted to give them just a little bit of love—just commune with them. We are not all cruel slaughterers who can so easily destroy such gentle beauty.
Where are you now?
With your head hung so low,
Lurching home from the hill
Where sweet grasses grow.
Where do you lurk?
With your spongiform brain
Showing scarce enough sense
To come out of the rain.
Where do you hide?
In the midst of the throng
As you’re chewing your cud,
Those sad dinner-bells, dong.
Science waits for you–
You’re still a suspect;
The scare’s never over
‘Til they’ve burned all defect.
Just keep your poll low
As you make for that barn,
Still licking your lips
From the drink at the tarn.
Watch out! They’re coming,
To slaughter your sleep.
Deer, damned, flee also
With scrapified sheep.
by Lize Bard
Alex Markovich, 39 y.o. male living in Russia. A photographer, writer, and lecturer, as well as translator. A regular guest on “Radio of Russia” and other radio stations. Main subjects of the programs: “Traveling through Russia” and “Photo Art” (Alex arranges photo exhibitions in various Russian towns and cities, as well as abroad). E-mail: travel.with.markovich AT gmail.com
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