The Milkin'     In torn and tattered milkin' cloths, he heads out to the barn, down the worn and tired path, past where the sheep are shorn.   Past the pampered garden, with the newly built white gate, movin' at a steady pace, tho' his back's no longer straight.   Ol' Bossy takes light notice, as he limps in through the door, she knows from many seasons, jest what he comes there for.   She's glad he finally showed up, ‘er pressures on the rise, that poor old udder swoll up, to nearly twic'd its size.   Knurled hands begin a squeezin', the milk it starts to sail, ring-sloush, ring-slousch, ring, as it shoots into the pail.   The cow she keeps a chewin', a twinkle in brown eyes, more than relief she's showin', for him there'll be surprize.   Pretendin' there's no reason, she raises up ‘er foot, all covered with the barnyard, to in the bucket put.   He keeps a milkin' steady, pays that foot no mind, thinkin' of the tons of wheat, today he'll have to grind.   Then that foot starts fallin', jest when she thought she'd won, it hits the barn floor plankin', the bucket- it is gone!   The old man gives a chuckle, as he leaves to gather eggs, ‘cuz he knew dern well, jest why she raised ‘er leg.     copyright AP Ashley 1996     Comment/Next/Back/Home