John Estes

Creamline

If there’s a kindness
similar to milk, 
it better be the raw kind,
pulled straight from
a vein-throbbed
taut and bloated udder
nutrients intact,
illegal to sell
unless, like us,
you have anarchist-
green-grocers who keep
a local-food shop
where it’s kept,
when available,
in the dairy case
in unmarked bottles.

 
So that I may hope,
do good and
dwell on the earth—
the sole demands
if boiled down the galactic 
grammatic I-Am
saw fit to impose—
give me this brand
of beefy care, 
grass-fed preferred,
so I might be
strong to give it.
But if I must settle,
as most often
I must, I’ll take it
pasteurized but
unhomogenized:
heated and fortified
as legislated
but left in need 
of shaking.