FOOD POEMS and HUMOR SECTION

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Spilled Milk

In days of old when warm milk was sold,
You got it straight from the cow.
They got out a bucket and under her stuck it
And pulled and pulled and how.

Little by little the milker would fiddle
And squirt it out into the pail.
The aching long squat might not get a lot
And sometimes the cow, she would fail.

If it happened she did, the farm placed a bid
To bring her a bull to stand stud.
They brought them together
     to mate on the heather
And hoped the match wasn't a dud.

It took half and half to make a whole calf
And they wanted a baby milk cow.
Before there was veal a male was no deal,
Worth nothing to them they'd allow.

We now make a meal of the tender white veal.
It's a use for the useless young males.
Just cram in a crate. It's their new modem fate
And starve them, ignoring their wails.

Of course it's now cruel and a trifle uncool
To eat veal with the old fashioned relish,
But they're dead just the same.
     It's the name of the game.
There's no need to avoid or embellish.

A cow's black and white. What a beautiful sight
And she knows to come home to be milked
On a suction machine
     that they have to keep clean,
To keep them from all getting bilked.

Old makers of milk were a curious ilk.
You'd hardly think they could get any.
Today it's a science
     with good health compliance
And sold by the sip for a penny.

Copyright © 2006 Stephen Blumenkranz