The Milk Maid
I can't conquer my scorn or my wandering fear.
I'm no patient cow; I am a slave to my chores,
forged in tillies and measures of time,
muscled with walks through the pasture
and with crouching beside these large animals
to quick squirt their milk on cold mornings.
I hate the castle and the king;
his men and maids
do these terrible things,
such terrible things.
They bathe in this milk
while our babies go hungry.
I sip. I spit. I spit.