Every other Saturday night is poetry night... apparently.
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Some days
you come into the milking parlour
and the air is warm from the cows but lately gone
and cool where the outside flows in
and the rain thrumming on the metal roof
swells to a deafening roar and sinks back to drizzle again
and the spray from the hose spatters your face and hands
and your legs and feet and fingers
move in coordinated rhythm as you clean the milkers
and plans for stories dance through your head
and everything is slow and dark and beautiful
And this was one of those days
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Hey, hey, the randomness
Strikes at once without redress
If to answer you should fail
Heads will roll and throats will wail.
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That last one... I don't know where it even came from...
YOU ARE READING
Verity's Book
RandomRandom book. You know those random books people have? Tags. Art. Announcements. Blog-ish sort of things. Random facts about their characters. Tags. Tags. More tags. Yeah... that's pretty much what this is. I know, I know, you want to read it. They a...
