Atkins Cow

Atkins Cow


You, my friend, are an Atkins cow.
You moo in a manner so soothing, fulfilling,
yet so unaware,
for you don't even know
that you're destined for dinner
on tables stripped naked of bread, rice, and pasta;
imbalanced, these meals, by aspiring thinners
who even scorn corn.

Oh, how you loved to be fed from my hand,
those cute little cubes --
why, you slobbered to even the sound of the can!
You always came running, so happy to see me,
but now there's a rancher --
he's shaking a can and I can see how
you'd confuse him and me...
He's calling your name and your stomach says, " Feed me!"
About to be fooled, you're too-eagerly running,
just like your annoying Pavlovian drool.

I'll miss you, ol' buddy, my nearest of neighbors,
you in the pasture and me, in the trailer.
Soon, I suspect I'll be sitting here lonely,
me in the trailer and you, in baloney.

You're about to be tagged with the red letter A,
but be optimistic, my protein-packed pal.
Give a Hindi hooray and learn about veggies.
Expect to sit next to a lot of green beans.
You'll be sharing the plate as you wait to meet people
conditioned to eat you,
their vanity, much like their low-riding jeans,
wrapped in marketing schemes.

This may or may not make you feel any better.
I don't guess it matters. You're standing there, tethered
and waiting to head to the packer...
Let's face it, my friend -- you might as well fight it!
You've nothing to lose and might even break loose
to find some other pasture where freedom and comfort
are waiting with luck, as are pseudonyms
other than Sir Loin and Chuck.

I'll watch as you go and regret
that I'll never know whether that's you
on my plate, lying nude without leather.
So just to be safe, I hereby declare
that I'll bless every burger and say, "Well done!"
I'll share toasty blankets -- a sesame bun.
May you peacefully pass knowing
death, much as life, was well worth the price -
in this case around a dollar-eighty a pound.

But did you ever believe you'd be this close to cheese?