Ruminant

At last, the pressures of life as a predator ease,
The planning, the movement, the sordid
Conception of all of the world's components
As tools, and a placid, bovine, almost, outlook
Slows and calms the day. The weather is warm,
Not hot. The sky isn't clouded with smoke.
No one nearby is talking. I watch the plants
Sway in the breeze and examine the swirls
Etched into the patio's concrete. I think
About what I am sensing; that's all. A
Predator's focus is on the horizon. I'm
Finished with that. I look down toward my
Feet, motionless, drained of intention, a ruminant,
And I ruminate.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 36 times
Written on 2021-08-22 at 00:06

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