Cows

The best part

about

where I live

are the Highland Cows

who hang-out

around the corner.

 

They have a big field

to themselves

with a sign that says,

‘Mind the Bull’

 

although they look placid

I haven’t yet chanced

going into the field

& patting them.

 

I remember,

A few years ago

a highland cow escaped from Pollock Park –

a dog had run into the field and threatened its calf.

 

It was found a mile away

Inside the loading-bay

of a garage

on the Battlefield Roundabout.

 

 

Gingery cows,

Always with smiling faces when turned into soft-toys

(sometimes with, mostly without, Tam o’ Shanters)

that my mum always called ‘coos’

which I believe

Is what they are called in the Highlands,

or perhaps

Just

in the South-Side of Glasgow.

 

Funny isn’t it.

 

Here am I in South Yorkshire,

cows, in a field, neighbours/

I have no idea what they are thinking,

or whether

their relations

behind the wrought-iron railings of the Country Park

Think

or behave in a different way,

perhaps with a Glaswegian

or

West of Scotland lilt

to their moos.

 

These creatures which seem so at odds with 21^st Century existence

have been

slowly moving

through my experience

And long may they continue!