The cows are loose, standing in my neighbor’s field.
I groan. I need to bush whack
that field for my neighbor, who is coming up this weekend.
Honey, call Marilyn. Her cows are loose.
I trudge back to the cows with a white pail, empty,
but they don’t know that.
Marilyn arrives with Bob.
Where are the calves?
We see no calves. Just cows.
Wait. These aren’t our cows.
Whose, then?
Cubbie? He’s in town, says he’ll get there soon.
Only one problem. They aren’t his.
I feel my day evaporating. Who else
might be missing cows. Ruth?
We got rid of ours in the spring. But Wilber is using
our field to pasture his cows. I’ll give him a ring.
Finally, Wilbur drives up and they really are his. We show the cows
a white pail that has some grain
and the cows begin to slowly
walk back home over my neighbor’s land.
It’s good to have good neighbors.
Published in Fresh Words, An International Literary Magazine, August 2021.
