The Missing Cow Tail Poem by Doris Dzameshie

In a field of green, the cow stood regal and majestic,
Reared for a purpose so singular and specific.
To grace the celebration of life for a man of renown,
On a day so grey, the skies seemed to frown.

The drizzle whispered secrets, the earth mourned in mist,
Yet the festive air prevailed, the sorrow could not persist.
Misornu, with a heavy heart, surveyed the scene,
His thoughts on the cow's tail, a delicacy so keen.

The women bustled, their hands swift and sure,
The cow, now a sacrifice, its fate to endure.
Anticipation hung thick as Misornu greeted each guest,
His mind on the tail, for which he longed with zest.

A cacophony arose, the kitchen alive with sound,
Ecstasy or agony, the line was not found.
Tears fell like rain, and dances began to unfurl,
To the rhythm of Agbadza, invisible drummers twirl.

Misornu, stirred by a force, leapt with a start,
Racing to the kitchen, a remote pressed to his heart.
The cow, now in pieces, simmered in pots arrayed,
But the tail was amiss, his culinary hopes delayed.

He searched his memory, did the cow boast a tail?
His mind a blur, his recollection to no avail.
A slap to his head, a desperate attempt to reboot,
The image of the cow, from horn to missing foot.

Did it sway a tail, as it chewed the cud so calm?
Or was it just a dream, a false memory's balm?
The oxtail light soup, his solace on this day of gloom,
Now a mystery, in the kitchen's frenzied room.

The women, still entranced, by some invincible force,
Misornu's heart accused, but his voice was hoarse.
Guilty, guilty, it screamed, yet no words would spill,
Who had purloined the tail, who had stolen the thrill?