When I forget the crazy bugs,
the scarlet and black moths,
the delicate-winged and immense flies
the color of frozen or weak tea,
the cows with wide faces over the gate
because they were not looking at us,
they were just being cows,
I’ll remember the faces of collies
bounding around and being useful
with their happy and lean intelligence.
Whenever I see a collie in the city,
I will know that he or she is one
of the underemployed, the unfulfilled,
not knowing any cows or sheep
to laugh up at, they look so meaty.
We saw two dogs on a beach, collared,
trotting along with no people in sight,
two friends out for a ramble,
perhaps relatives even
or old business associates,
the older one game with a limp.
Maybe the dogs had just met.
Sure, we all screw up at times.
We also found a sheep skeleton
further down the surf,
the large back bones
half a skull, an upper jaw
bitten into Mayo sand.