Mom's (Version II)

They line up, lowing, at the gate:
Udders plump and pendulous
Or horns, stiff and pointy.

Dappled coats sport jagged brands
(so they know what farm they're from.)

The youngest ones are shooed away -
To fatten for a coming slaughter.

Once in, it's
Nose to tail,
Leather on leather,
jamming ahead for a
Lick at the trough.

The satisfied spill streetward,
Pushed out by hungrier cows.

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