She Hates My Poems (A Country Lament)

 She Hates My Poems

She says they tire her, make her dizzy,
Shuts down my rhymes with looks so icy.
—"Go weed the field!"—"Put down that pen!"—
"Tend to the hogs—that’s cash, my friend!"

She sways off sideways, boots a-kickin’,
Straight to the barn, no time for listenin’.
—"Oh, honey, quit it, you’re so borin’!"
Yawns like the dawn, no use implorin’.

—"Mix sand ‘n’ gravel, stack them bricks tight!"
—"Supper won’t cook itself tonight!"
"Chop the meat, spice it right—
Drop them daydreams, boy, ain’t polite."

I sneak a stanza, soft ‘n’ low…
But hush my mouth when she says so.
—"Your boy can’t spell his ABCs!"
—"Forget the stars—tend to them trees!"

She grips a candle, scrubs the plates,
Drives nails hard, won’t tolerate
Ghosts ‘n’ whims—"Ain’t got the time!"
Yet in my chest, the lines still chime…

Then late at night, her voice turns sweet:
—"Come lie here, darlin’, hold me neat."
—"Kiss my neck, oh, that’s the rhyme…"
I melt—her love’s the perfect line.

—"Poems on paper? No, I jest."
—"The best ones move—so gimme flesh!"
"The kind that sweats, that builds, that sows,
That tends the home, the heart, the rows,

That plants a seed, that teaches Junior,
That loves his wife—hell, that’s the tune, sir!
That’s the song—right, raw, ‘n’ true…*
The only poem worth a damn is you."