COOL COWS

Deer Gerry, 'Tis I, a reflective, retrospective Rosie Ryan.Gerry, do you ever have strange, odd, weird inexplicable-yearnings? Lately, I have bean fair tortured by-yearnings. Yearnings that must spring from the font of some deep Fraudian spring that lies at the hart of my beeing.

Last night as I stood at my bouid-Wa winda, attired in a long flowing khaki negligent. I saw the mella' yella' harvest moon peep through the moss encrusted branches of an apple tree and my hart was filled, with yearnings, longings and unrequited feelings for, something I can knot utterise with any approximation of apprehension. "What! in the world has come over me?" I mused, as I deftly kicked the po under the bed with the skill and grace of Ronaldo.

"Rosie" I said "Why do you-yearn? You have it all. A boy child with out equal in the shape of Bon Jovi and Chuck Corona, a boyfriend with rugged good looks and magical futtering hands". I gave my matted mass of red hare a toss like a Clydesdale horse and looked at my rejection in the cracked mirror.

There stood a Greek Goddess. A flaming mane of red hair, gently cupped my big red face. The face of a-hangel. My bisums hung low, nesteling snugly on the curve of my pot belly. LEGS! Legs like two Greek Colum's. Beautifully streaked with delicate blew viens like marble. Marble like what was used bye Micky-Anglo to carve a sculpture of David. A boy who could have done with a bit of under-carriage enhancemant. But let us knot be churlish, David still has the looks of a very nice boy. Colum's, like my sturdy legs had held the panty-thon up since the day the blue opening ribbon was cut my Zorba the Greek.

Why do I-yearn Gerry? Why kan I knot bee content? Sometimes I wood be willing too give up all my beauty. All my grace, my poise. My nowledge of arts and kulture and be a humble bovine cow. No animal in the animal world is more laid back or "Cool" as the humble cow. See it stand, chewing the cud, flicking flies from it's ars--rear with a switching tale. The cow is the Fonz, the, "Cookie, Cookie, lend me your comb" of the animal world. Why! it does knot even hunker down when having a slash!.

As yearnings for the intangible increased. I threw my head back and cried too the mella' yella' moon.

"OH grate creater of mountains, mice and wombats, look down from on Hi on your most beautiful creation and take away these, embryotic yearnings, cravings and wantings. EMPATHY LORD!" I cried "Grant me-empathy, as I stand here tonight. With the fragant sents from the nocturnal flora and fauna wafting up my nose and into my brain. Sending the wee endorphines mad with a sensual, sexual thoughts of pagan rituals. YAHWEH!" I yelled "Let me knot divest myself of my garments and run naked through Clougher yelling. "Hows about that then!"

"Give me bovineism" I yelled "Give me bovineism on a grand scale. Let me stand at a gate with a vacant look in my eyes. Let me wander slowly, caring knot where I go and if it is preordained to come to pass, I WILL grit my teeth and slash without hunkering down".

Having said those words Gerry, I felt piece enter my hart. My heaving bisum heaved no more. I glided across the moon-lit floor like a faerie sprite. Gently pulled back the ex Israeli army blanket and gracefully lifted one delicate foot. THEN! Mindful of my little accident last nite, I pulled out the po and uttulised it for the purpose it was intended. Not yet being filled with the piece of the bovine, I did hunker down. As I sat on the po I ruminated. Man indeed is a flawed creation. Always wanting-more. Take poor Micky Hart. I seen him yesterday, unshaven, wide eyed and unkempt yelling to anyone who wood listen."The Sam Maguire belongs to-TYRONE! We wuz robbed. That referee was a rite gulpin". Tonight as I lie a bed, I wool pray that the piece of the bovine desends on the half bald head of-Micky Hart. Peace be with you Gerry my SUN. And watch when changing gears on that auld bicycle. Be aware that many a man came home with an oily, mangled under-carriage.

From your friend and mine--Rosie Ryan XXX