Year of Writing 64. The Cow.

3/5/12   


Today in the car ride home, Tegan had the misfortune of informing Isla where hamburgers come from.  I don't know how it came up, but her mom said something along the lines of "Well, we do eat cows, you know."  Isla, feeling a bit of chagrin said "no, you're just kidding, mama."

This is where Tegan tactfully attempted to explain that hamburgers are actually cows, at which point Isla begins to sob.  Heartily.  She puts her face in her hands and wails.  (this is all hearsay, by the way, but I believe every word out of my beautiful wife's mouth).  So now Tegan is forced to dutifully explain that Isla didn't know those cows, and that lots of people eat animals, and lots of people choose not to because they feel like she feels in that moment.  Pretty good stuff, of course I did hear this all just from her.

All this got me thinking about a poem I wrote when I was 11.  Seriously.  I really don't mind if Isla decides to become Vegetarian, I lived with a Vegan for most of my formative years - instead I flashed back to 6th grade, when I had to write a poem about a cow.  Let me rephrase that, I wasn't assigned to write a poem about a cow, I HAD to.  I remember reading some article about how veal was raised, and having this visceral reaction - so I wrote a poem.  Sidenote:  I still haven't eaten a bite of veal, and don't plan to.

Now, as I was recalling the poem (I really only remembered that it ended with the word "Mooooo"),  I simultaneously recalled packing a box with a scrapbook my Grandma gave me before she died, that had all of the things I had sent her over the years.  I also remembered that one of the last things I had sent to her, before that kind of thing was really uncool, was my 6th grade poetry portfolio.  HOLY CRAP.  I could totally find this thing.  One hour, forty five minutes later and - Voila:

 Text follows:


The Cow

The cow walks slowly back & forth
Grazing
All of her children have been used for veal
Does she care?
No.
Every day she is brought in to be milked.
Does she care?
No.
Someday she too will be made into food.
Does she care?
No.
None of these things cross her mind.
Why?
Because she is too lazy to think of them
and she'd rather not bother
How many times has she seen other cows led off to the slaughterhouse?
Many.
But still she does not care.
Why - she has no reason to
She just grazes in the field minding her own business.
Mooooo!



After analyzing my 11 year old mind, I think I may have been reading too much Nietzsche.  I had no idea how much of a nihilist I was in 6th grade.  Actually - I think I was romanticizing  the cow way too much.  I just wanted to be left alone in my own little field.  Man, what a sad kid.

Either that or I just really wanted to write a poem about a cow.  Whatever.