Bossy - The Residents

Sat upon an empty box of Cheerios and settled

Through the cracks of wooden floors

Forming little cone mountains

Fertile soil on which to rest

My dirty little white stone

With dimples to keep it from

Rolling down the dusty trail

Brought such straight rows

Like corn and peas

And foot caves in cold dirt

And the sore throat that follows

Everyone always knew it ended this way,

But I still don’t understand why…

Milking the cow didn’t work.

She was warm and had a rough

Mus-cular tongue for licking

Salt blocks and brown eyes like a cow

And her name was Bossy.

We didn’t eat her I don’t think

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