meditate through the cow

but we won’t be there
as sandhill farm mica says
to the sorghum customer on the phone
who will meet us at the fairfield farmers market
we’ll bet here as a poet under a tent


the wily cow
who halted traffic
on the highway
while his/her rookie keepers
chased it about
the idling engines

i couldn’t meditate through the cow
cynthia says later about
how she was meditating in the front seat
but paused and resumed
because of the cow excitement

me wearing a too-small pegasus costume
(which means i tuck my head
into its head like a hood and
the rest of its body drapes down
along my back
instead of me climbing inside
and zipping it up)
perched at the typewriter on the table
awaiting the first customer

it’s the one on the right mica says
about the warm beverage-snack she
delivered to me at my typewriter station
(hot chocolate)

ed chomping on an apple
who asks for a poem about
awakening and claudia
who asks for the poem
about the woods and says
that the four-leaf clovers signal her


too cold for ice cream i say
but we each grab a halloween goodie
from the natural foods store pumpkins
on our way out the door


i haven’t experienced that
kind of religion james writes about
reading juliana spahr’s this connection
of everyone with lungs on the beach
outloud to himself and choking up every
five minutes bookended by a
pacific ocean dip

sounds of pet cemetery
drifting in from karma living room
where cynthia holds tyler tight by the arm

and a bowl of popcorn is placed
on either couch
and some people are disturbed/terrified
and some people aren’t scared enough


the crinkle of the pastry bag as i
unwrap the pink-iced sugar cookie
and nibble


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