A Milking Table Poem by James McLain

The sign out side still reads.
Free' milkings to the first one hundred.
Lured in by thier own blind lust,
all are full, thick, dripping and heavy.
As willing as the next.

Each checked.
Weighed And readied.
by 'More' than simple nurses.
With pretty pink wings.
With blue veined, white marble hands.
The line is soon gone.

Hooked up to long clear hoses.
Secured by the pros now imobil.
Hose to mouth, mouth to hose.
Leading under ground to the 'Queen'.
There are no back doors to this palace.
The moon is always full.