frugal, yet plenty; docile, yet buxom

I’m a cow-boy, still beardless, and I respect you

You’ll be my baby, till my tanned and wrinkled skin arrives

Your blood would have been flowing in my veins, and in my kids’ veins

And my sweat would have been yours (but isn’t this air ours?)

Some people treat you like a manufactory (they call you cow-machine)

But existence is choice; free choice

And I have chosen for you (that’s why you would have been,

but you won’t)


they say I’m just a beardless cowboy,

and I just don’t know

But from here, staring at you, wondering about inside your eyes, I know, you know

We’re together

Mom and dad don’t understand why I’m vegetarian

“It’s a dishonor for our heritage”

But we both know

Together, in the prairie

cownon copy

words and picture by Ricardo Andrade