A bull, heard over the intercom, makes a terrible
sound. It seems to be dying or aware
of some terrible situation. Between its buckings,
it comes back on to say something, sound as if
it says something even more awful.
It’s just a terrible bull, someone shouts
through the warehouse, it has no authority
to say such things, we’re reminded.
It can’t even take care of itself, let alone put the fear
of our misbehavior, or anyone’s, between us.
The day started off clear and it will end
peaceful. This was the chant that helped to drown
out the terrible scene that continued over
the intercom. Who wants to go to a restaurant?
Who wants to ride to our favorite restaurant
on the back of my motorcycle? We were all sweaty
and thirsty, but not hungry. We had very little
harmony, we always had very little harmony,
but now, I’m telling you, aside from the town
that looked up to us, and the pasture
whose gesture brought us here, we couldn’t move
in agreement to even shut this place down,
to turn out the lights for the evening.