Losing them, fixing them, forgetting to put them in
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Lee Rossi’s poems have appeared in Southern Poetry Review and North American Review. Now well into retirement in San Carlos, California, he continues to improve his homemaking skills, with a marked aptitude for preparing hot dogs and prewashed salads. He wonders if it’s too late to seek refuge in the priesthood.
They’re all gone now, but when I was a kid, there were cows all around my house, even though we were only twelve miles from downtown. Half the kids I went to school with, their parents owned cows. Even my own parents, a dozen cows, penned in the field across the street, behind my dad’s saloon. Big brown cows with white faces and large, sad eyes — and long eyelashes, longer even than the ones my mom kept in her top dresser drawer.