Halted ahead at intersections
Of three rows the cattle would gather
With blinking lights alternating
Waiting for the Sheppard to motion forth.
The congestion down their arteries
Chills the cells to an icy stop.
Iron bars on the edges
And mankind's cholesterol in the middle.
No escape from the blinking,
No movement away from the Sheppard cane.
Soon the cattle go to slaughter--
Only then may this blinking falter.