Like a Rheinsteiner Kuhhirte
I like to imagine the German herders
Driving the buffalos (European buffalos)
Through the Mainthal slopes to Frankenfurter,
Or Burgenburg, or one of those,
On horseback, down the country lanes,
Avoiding the dorfs of the upper reaches,
As they camp each night on the lonely plain,
In red-check smocks and indigo breeches,
Through torrents of rain and insane heat,
Till at last they meet the mighty Rhine
At Fort Mainz, down the dusty Main Street,
With two hundred head of two-ton kine.
Of course, they’d need to emigrate first,
To the bauer-ranches of the brave Old West,
Through the ödland odd-lands, with a rye-schnapps thirst,
In Sankt-Franz City, or New Budapest.
Day 23 – Dapper – #inktober #inktoberpoem #inktoberpoetry
