Sunday, May 03, 2009

Ode to the Feedlots

The wintertime masks the odour of the feedlot, you think

When driving by the smell isn't so bad the stink

Isn't an overwhelming presence just a mild after taste

From all those cattle's massed body waste

The skein of ice over the lagoon surface

Hides Natures ultimate purpose

For when the cheery Springtime Sun heat

Warms the copious fetid treat

A fragrant explosion assaults the senses

When motoring by those complicit fences

The Little Tree® air freshener hides and cries

And moans and screams and finally dies

The dense, wafting wall of emanation

Surely is unequaled in all of creation

Overcome by dizziness in the cloud of effluvium

One wonders if there is a requiem

For the slaughtered nerves in one's nose

Flooded like a tincture of fire hose

The Old Timers! Look and see

It's nothing but the smell of money!

I'll agree with this only

When me and my nose are safely free!



5 comments:

Lisa Paul said...

Ha! Drove by the Central Valley's Harris Ranch feedlots on my way to Bakersfield recently. Weeks later, I still don't think I have the "taste" out of my mouth. Here in Sonoma -- which is the epicenter of green, sustainably raised, organic, meat -- you can actually drive by cows and still smell the roses. Well, you could if they didn't burn up in the hot California sun. Let's say you can smell the cactus roses.

Anonymous said...

nothing like the fragrance after the rain! TB

Earl said...

What they wouldn't give for that much stink in Dafur.

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