As I consider the carton of milk
with the picture of Elsie the Cow
suspended over my bowl of cereal,
I’m struck by her friendly grin,
an expression she retains
even in the darkness
of the closed refrigerator.
My cornflakes and berries
are now afloat in the milk
from Elsie’s generous udders,
and while I put my spoon to work,
I wonder who wove
the garland of daisies
that encircles her magnificent neck.
Someone on the farm no doubt,
who must have entered the pasture
through a wooden gate
and settled the flowers
over her knobby horns
while Elsie bowed her shapely head.
It seems likely to be
the handiwork of a girl,
maybe one of the daughters,
perhaps an only child.
But where is she now?
In what little town by a river
or on a high mountain
or by a sea shore does she dwell?
What lowing heifer does she now adorn?