My great uncle stove the cow’s head in with the hammer he used
For knocking nails and shims into tracks of dry wood and posts
Its legs buckled under as the hammer hit bone gristle and skull
A popping sound issuing as the hammer swung quick then away
Its eyes went red then white then its shoulders slackened and fell
Then and one last snort of rye whiskey and Presbyter’s admixture
I closed my eyes as it fell tongue tacked to the chisel of its teeth and my Great uncle spitting whiskey and quid into the grain of the barn wood floor