City cousins, when their names
still ended in -ys and -ies,
the Jimmys and Eddies
as they were back then
and whose voices had yet
to grow coarse and deep,
ran downhill to the barn
to watch the milking and feeding
only to have Uncle Joe grab
them one by one in hammer locks,
squirt their faces with
the strong smelling lather
of swollen udders
before setting them free
with a wink and a pinch
to dash in shocked frenzy
uphill to the farmhouse
screaming, “Mom! Mom! Mom!
A cow peed in my mouth!” —
and revel in the memory
of the laughter of young mothers
echoing off an old wood stove
in Aunt Mamie’s kitchen
on a fresh summer morning
when the world
still felt safe and true