Less talk, more bull.

I crept up to the red
light and craned my neck
southward to check out the livestock
in the trailer one lane over.

The mid-afternoon sun shone
fiercely through the translucent roof
casting a yellow glow upon
the motionless cattle.
All of them had horns, some the size
of my forearm.
Their eyes were big and dull
but not in a dumb way;
more like a shark's dead eyes--
the kind that know their power.

I wondered if they were being brought
to the slaughter or to greener pastures
maybe even put out to stud.
The blank looks on the faces of the Mexicans
in the back seat of the pick-up towing
the trailer didn't clarify the matter.
The driver adjusted his sunglasses
and braced himself for the sharp left turn
of the entrance ramp leading onto the highway.
There was a lot of money hitched to his vehicle.
There were too many tools in the back of mine.

When the green arrow permitted us to proceed
I let my foot up off the brake slowly and started
to commit myself to the turn
taking one more look at the naively stoic bulls.
There was something to be learned from them
but the line of cars behind me wasn't about to wait.

It's been one of those weeks
when the animals have more to say.
The world may never know, right Mr. Owl?