Lodi, Feeding Cows Poem by Greg Beattie

Sweet-scented chartreuse dust
Rises from bales of alfalfa
As they are dropped from the flatbed
I, half man half goofball, twelve years in this world,
Man the hooks and pull off 10 lb. flakes tossed toward the cows
1,000 pounds each of cowering, servile steak
Any one of which could condemn and crush this waifish child
for the whole bale, unlimited spoils.

My mind runs to the solar system I am making,
To girls and Brut cologne at the junior high dance,
To Gilligan and Maxwell Smart.
Unconscious of the power I wield,
of the danger I face,
of the rich irony life has presented.

But they stand back, heads down, like well-meaning, prewar Germans
Not inclined to challenge this flimsy little dictator
Standing before them in cutoffs and a surfer shirt
Ready to run at the first menacing snort.