fence lines

The bison huffs all dark woolly head
hump and hindquarters
then lowers himself into the ditch
its banks of spring gumbo funk already hoof-split
already baked hard

The bison locks his thin front legs
considers the sun-shot wings of mites
the foot-waggling wallow of a cow
her dark mufflers and trailing streamers of winter fur
upheaving cloven hooves up
and down the dry mud lifting
and clouding around her

The bison dips into reflections of last year
sucks and strains green bleached blonde
garrump gone to spawn
lifts his chin streaming to the calf
all pulled caramel all legs and en pointe hops
takes his biting attendants his airspace of geese growl
and gull scream of overhead airplane
and peripheral auto drone
and moves off

* * *

It is a fine may day today, as it was on the weekend when I visited the bison at Fort Whyte Centre.

For some reason, I feel compelled to visit the bison here and at other sites like Riding Mountain National Park and Assiniboine Park Zoo, to stand at the fence line and goggle at all that head.

This past weekend, a bison came within a foot or two of us, M creeping closer and closer with his camera, filling the frame and practically snorting with excitement.

I twined myself into the twelve-foot fence, filling each wiry frame with arms and legs and belly and...stared.