- Greg Judkins

- Dec 9, 2025
A commune of cows
distinguished by blotches of black and brown
over a wide eye, a warm rump
all eat the same grass
are constrained by the same wire fence
share the same old bull.

A commune of cows
distinguished by blotches of black and brown
over a wide eye, a warm rump
all eat the same grass
are constrained by the same wire fence
share the same old bull.

When they ask why you don’t eat meat
tell a conspiracy tale about little
boy cows being snatched from their mothers
so we can enjoy veal with our milk.
Describe the smell of the rain-wet wool
on your childhood pet lamb, the thrill
of its strong thrusts to latch on the bottle
with a frenzy of joy in its tail.
Mention bovine flatulence if you must,
their pee and their poo in our waterways
as we sweat under methane duvets
and all these once-in-a-century events.
You may admit ambivalence to silly old chooks
whose eggs are plucked with barely a blink
but the chemical plumping of tight-caged chicks
is as gross as Guantanamo Bay.
No need to describe the bright eye of the fish
flapping in the bottom of your bucket
for creatures of the sea are cold blooded
and we don’t warm to them the same.
The scream of the pig with a knife at its throat
is best avoided in table conversation,
instead segue to neatly packaged processed
pork, pink with nitrites and preservatives
and acknowledge statins that counter animal fats
so to appear reasonable and pragmatic
and not be mistaken for a zealot
for you still love your rainbow of cheeses.

After making her coffee and lunch
in the hospice kitchen, I
find respite in my book of poems
which can hold a hand, an eye,
an ear, but won’t say how long
is a piece of string
or whether hope is the shape
imagined.
Despite losing weight and time
she seems today infused
with more wellness
which I once could define
but now find in the crumbs on a plate
in the focus of an eye
and in a way of being on a bed
without surrender.
Time brakes even
as it forces us both back
to the pace at which
fruit ripens, warm air rises
and for now the hours are ours to pass
with or without words
taking time out
where the rest is for life.