you come home and joke
that I’m your farm wife
in my long brown skirt
and beige sweater
sleeves rolled up
to knead the bread
another loaf already
in the oven
I spent the afternoon
hanging sheets outside
to frolic in the wind
and daydreaming about
which vegetables to plant
come spring
it’s so romantic
waking up before dawn
and sitting in the freezing mud
milking cows
while a little farm cat
jumps around
looking for farm mice
or sitting in the farmhouse
after dinner
darning socks
whatever that means
and catching up on
the latest farm gossip
such as
which chickens have
stopped laying
who’s planted tomatoes
instead of waiting
for one last frost
or reading about the latest
farm crime
until I go to bed
with you
my farm husband
exhausted and content
too tired to dream