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Collected Poetry

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Beating Heart, Dancing Feet  

  Barbed Wire 


If you made me string barbed-wire
through the rocks and yellow star thistle
on your father's steep, cow land
I would wet this old bandanna
and tie it around my neck.  And if,
when the sun was high and the wind
was hot, you brought me a beer
and broke it at my feet, I would
still watch you turn and walk
bare-legged down the brown pasture,
waiting to hear the screen-door slam.

If you were to demand I change the oil
on your old truck each evening before supper
I would change the oil each evening
and I would shower before sitting down
at your table.  I would comb my hair
and attend to my nails.  I would bring
a rose from the garden and compliment
the very fine quality of the meal.
And I would not show offense if
you chose not to speak to me.

Let's say you thought that a good man
should do dishes.  I would wash dishes
for you.  First I would clear the table,
then wash and dry the dishes before I
put them away.  I'd start some coffee
on the stove.  And if you felt lonely,
like leaning against the porch rail
to smoke a cigarette, I might turn the radio
on low.  Your boys would need a bath.
I'd comb their hair and put them in bed.
Kiss their cheeks.  Each evening I would be
earnest and willing to wait for you to come inside.



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