To Burp is Human; to Eructate, Bovine
To dairy cows the news comes with a thud,
Providing much for them to ruminate:
For ages they have blithely chewed the cud,
Yet now we lay our problems at their gate.
While human halitosis can spell death
To moments of romance when love is near,
At least when we exhale our torrid breath
It’s not death for the actual atmosphere.
Across our verdant meadows cows may range,
Dispensing methane as they puff and wheeze,
Yet we can’t sense the climate or its change
In air-conned delis where we buy our cheese.
Bucolic pleasures, vital to our past,
When claimed by hordes of humans cannot last.