That Mottled Cow I Know Poem by Ananta Madhavan

I know this mottled cow,
It has a hide of bright black-white patches.
It likes to amble down the middle of our road
In aloof dignity, unmindful of our traffic rules.

It leaves a trail of dung-prints till it comes
To Hotel ‘Cloud Nine', where we go
On rare mornings for a treat
Of ‘idli' or ‘rava dosa' with a pot
Of filter-coffee served in thick-lipped cups,
Saving our self-service, from griddle to washing up.

Outside the mottled cow sedately
Ambles down the sloping lanes
To its farmyard home and tufted nibbles
Of foliage beyond the laws of ownership,
Self-service of a kind, no bills, no tips.
It is milking time, bovinely generous.