Cow with Parasol Being ogled is nothing new when you’re a flower-loving cow with a furry blue face and tiny red wings, but hiding isn’t the reason for the parasol (in case you’re wondering, I just like it is all). When they passed on the path high above me, the sun, higher still, was mostly blocked, and for a moment I felt safe—which was puzzling since I was sure they were looking and probably making silent notes about my extravagances. Then, unavoidably, the sun moved, and I knew I’d soon see them, and not just their silhouettes but everything from their ill-fitting shoes right down to their tarstained moustaches— and so, I’m left with no other choice: move on and dream of finding a cave so dark you’d never know if the colorless moss was smiling back or snarling.
SIXFOLD POETRY FALL 2013
Chris Haug
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