BY MICHELLE ELVY
On my way to work this morning, I saw two cows fucking – OK, I guess it was a cow and a bull. They were right on the side of the road, no kidding. Not down in the pasture, or up the hill, but on the gravel shoulder, right there, so close that I had to slow my car to pass. And when I did, the one closest to me – the one on the bottom, the cow – looked right at me. Big bored browns, long lazy lashes. Like they know a lot but ain’t ever gonna tell. Made me think of that girl Peach – her eyes are like that. I’ve never actually talked to her, but I see her standing on the corner by the gas station. Skinny legs, rounded shoulders, bangs down to those eyes. I don’t actually think about fucking her. Well, maybe I do. But really, when I see her, I remember things I’ve nearly forgotten.
Sometimes I fill my Chevy just to have a look, and sometimes she looks back. In that moment I forget my wife who don’t look at me, kids who don’t hear me, supervisors who don’t listen. In those moments, I forget that I usually don’t look forward to much at all.
Sometimes I can’t wait to fill my Chevy.
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Michelle Elvy has published work in numerous literary journals and can also be found at Glow Worm. She is also the editor of 52/250 as well as VOICES, where characters (flawed or not) have their say.
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