By Alyssa Gregg

I ride the train from Ashton Lane

and pass a children’s soccer match

while walking in the young evening dusk,

casting my flashlight to the sidewalk.

I phone a friend and swear

that I will Uber home, dear lord.

Google Maps was not kind tonight,

but I find my treasures nonetheless—

most asleep, but two standing, majestic beacons.

I reach fingers through the fence

and brush my hand along one’s horns

still on the phone, giggling and giddy,

chanting, “Good cows, good cows!”

I switch my camera into night mode

(Oh, Android, you are my messiah)

Although the cow pulls away from me,

disturbed—I am still warmed.

All bangs and splutters—such a sound

repeats in my head the journey home,

compels me to stop in the airport

to buy myself a friend just like it—

auburn, plush, and soft with a plaid cap.

Fondly, I name him Lachlan.

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Alyssa Gregg (she/her) ‘25 is a television, radio and film major with a women’s and gender studies minor, from Northeast Tennessee. She enjoys writing, crocheting, and playing piano in her free time.