The Body Good

Milk. It does the body good.  
But what good is the body when the calf weeps formulated milk ducts from the scientist’s teat.
Lick those lips of perspirated celebrity icons and
Sink those hips into celebrated 2% liquids.
But what of the lips, shut in closed quarters,
Those wordless mouths gone from their mothers,
Taken at birth.  For nothing here is natural,
No.  
Capital with a capital C is the master.
No freedom, no harmony.
See that smiling cow on your two-gallon jug?  
Ever wonder how it’s doing now
With six machines plugged into 
Six long forgotten motherly instincts?

Factories.
That’s what’s become
Of long gone dreams of father and son
Working the plow with mother in the barn house
Milking the cow.
But now:
Daughter’s at the Apple
Computer checking out an Efficiency in the city.
Mother’s milking her moment of silence before
Son comes home from university,
The next proud owner of father’s duplicity.
Happy Cow Industry, the joke of the century
Where young calves sit in silence and 
Only Grandpa remembers what it means to do the body good.

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