The Lover
When I lived on a farm I wrote love lettersTo chickens pecking in the yard,Or I’d sit in the outhouse writing one to a spiderMending his web over my head.That’s when my wife took off with the mailman.The neighbors were leaving, too,Their sow and piglets squealingAs they ran after the moving truck,And even that scarecrow I once tied to a treeSo it would have to listen to me.