That’s
the Life
I say to myself
I wish I were a pie
maker on the plains
way west of here,
watching grain tilt
windward, on the lookout
for cyclones. Or I say
I wish I were a quilter
on a Vermont hillside,
patchworking fabric,
counting Guernseys cross
the grass. Yes,
yes, that’s the life!
I could fall for a farmer,
be the mother of robust sons
and daughters, lullabye
singer, spinner
of yarns.
Ach! I say to myself,
You go too far.
Bring me a cigarette,
you stupid,
stupid fool.
Copyright © 2005 Sarah Sloat