The insouciance of young steers
staring, their heads sideways cocked
clocking my amble by, and the absolute
beauty of the Charolais' upturned
face towards my passing observation:
how I see burgers on the barbecue;
sizzling steak at Gaucho. Further
around the corner, black and whites
loll in the sun and grass, churning
milk for strong coffee and my lifelong
full cold glass at mealtimes.
There is no blood-rush for the hunt.
What I see in this afternoon's strolled foray
is the supermarket's meat on cold display.