Kelly's kept an unlicensed bull, well away
From the road: you risked a fine but had to pay
The normal fee if cows were serviced there.
Once I dragged a nervous Friesian on a tether
Down a lane of alder, shaggy with catkin,
Down to the shed the bull was kept in.
I gave Old Kelly the clammy silver, though why
I could not guess. He grunted a curt 'Go by.
Get up on that gate.' And from my lofty station
I watched the business-like conception.
The door, unbolted, whacked back against the wall.
The illegal sire fumbled from his stall
Unhurried as an old steam-engine shunting.
He circled, snored and nosed. No hectic panting,
Just the unfussy ease of a good tradesman;
Then an awkward, unexpected jump, and,
His knobbled forelegs straddling her flank,
He slammed life home, impassive as a tank,
Dropping off like a tipped-up load of sand.
'She'll do,' said Kelly and tapped his ash-plant
Across her hindquarters. 'If not, bring her back.'
I walked ahead of her, the rope now slack,
While Kelly whooped and prodded his outlaw
Who, in his own time, resumed the dark, the straw.
