the cows and we share a crossing
perpendicular. you have to close the gate
so they can cross the cattle grid. in summer
the council puts stickers on the posts saying
‘thank you for closing the gate’ but we still
don’t. the cyclists careen through, wheels
rattling on the grid. the cows, when they come,
wail and stamp, struggle to wait their turn.
they’re grazing now, in the green fields
behind the new housing. the council stickers
came early, shouting ‘close the gate’ and
‘wash your hands’ in small, angry circles.
the cows, when they come, nudge the hinge,
discovering a rusted bolt revealed now it’s
closed for good. from our new windows
we watch them cross, struggle to wait our turn.