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New freedoms (but no sex)

Sex is in the air, (I won’t tag that)
but it’ll be okay
so long as the West wind blows.

The little heifers
Holly and Alice
graze freely
on the aftermath
of the silage cut.

Stock fences are illusory,
a gesture of control.
The cattle can walk through
parting my lines easy enough.
Mostly they appreciate constraint,
but I have slung a halter around
the horns of Eros
hitched him to a hurdle.

Holly and Alice are 18 months old,
ready to breed
and keen.
If they find the bull now
they will breed successfully,
but all their strength
will go to the new life
leaving them stunted.

Where do you think the  boys are?

Where do you think the boys are?

So I watch,
sour as a dowager,
while they nibble newfound delights.

A field away upwind-
shielded from sight,
Angus rolls along the fence,
sucking at the air’s juice.

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