The Outlaw

Kellys kept an unlicensed bull, well away

From the road: one risked a fine, but had to pay

The normal fee if cows were serviced there.

Once I dragged a nervous Friesian on a tether

Down a lane of alder, shaggy with catkin,

Down to the shed the bull was kept in.

I gave Old Kelly the clammy silver, though why

I could not guess. He grunted a curt “Go by.

Get up on that gate.” and from my lofty station

I watched the businesslike conception.

The door, unbolted, whacked back against the wall.

The illegal sire fumbled from his stall

Unhurried as an old steam engine shunting.

He circled, snored, and nosed. No hectic panting,

Just the unfussy ease of a good tradesman;

Then an awkward unexpected jump, and

His knobbled forelegs straddling her flank,

He slammed life home, impassive as a tank.

Dropping off like a tipped-up load of sand.

“She’ll do,” said Kelly and tapped his ash-plant

Across her hindquarters. “If not, bring her back.”

I walked ahead of her, the rope now slack

While Kelly whooped and prodded his outlaw

Who, in his own time, resumed the dark, the straw.