We are all tourists here, safe inside our cars,
except for Stupid Woman in her white tennies
snap snap snapping pics and gum,
crouching, moving in closer for that perfect shot,
unaware she could be gored in the time
it takes to scream “Get back in your car!”
Calves and cows and bulls chant a low guttural hymn
as they amble across asphalt and September prairie.
We want to reach out of windows, pick burrs off their faces,
look deep into dark eyes, find some glint of recognition.
We long to follow the curve of their horns with our hands
and touch the heavy hide that wraps them.
We want to do what Stupid Woman is doing:
to take them home as images, show them off to our friends,
and visit gift shops for something we can buy.