Have you ever wondered how
it really feels to be a cow?
And have you ever envied she
who seems to live indulgently?
At home on pastures green and lush.
No husbands kids or weekday rush.
In fact this is a load of bull
for Madam Cow is very cool.
Unlike us liberated chicks
she has no choice with whom she clicks.
There is no contraceptive pill
to let this lady breed at will.
She births a calf and gives it up
so we on tea with milk can sup.
So stop a while and have a think
what lies beneath that bovine blink?
She might not have a lot of choice
but boy she’s got a powerful voice.
She lets her female self hang out
her tits a swinging round about.
She shits a pile and flicks her arse
without a care for who might pass.
She stares at you as cud she chews
and never does herself excuse.
So let us pause and celebrate
the one who made this country great.
The one who really shows us how.
The wild woman dairy cow.
(c) Helen McKinlay
This poem was inspired by the experience of living next to a dairy farm. We grew very fond of the cows…they would often come to the fence for a friendly exchange of moos and gave us much entertainment and pleasure.
On a serious note, I have often watched cows walking to the milk shed, their udders hanging low and heavy. Having worked in midwifery and been a breast feeding mum I know how uncomfortable this must be. And one of my least favourite sounds is the bleating of calves removed from their mums and the sound of cows crying for their calves… yet our whole dairy industry in NZ is geared around this practice. Food for thought. The Wild Woman Cow was first published in ‘Sleepy Hollow Stirs’ (Nucleus Publications,Nelson 2006)
Meanwhile, a toast to cows. Long may they retain their attitude, strength of character and serenity!
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