Indian Cattle
With soft faces
and docile eyes
they view us.
Lumbering
on dusty red roads.
Huddling together
in the dusky sundown.
No sacred cows
alone
each one owned
and needed.
Yet no field owned
though needed.
White taxis swerve
and sound
their raucous klaxons.
Gentle beasts
sway a little
and the cars pass by.
Red dust is thrown up
from rutted roads
and
long black bovine lashes
flick it away
as they have done
for ever.
