A Woman’s Work
When we found a groundhog corpse in the lawn
my husband went pale, sickly green
so I threw on my dirtiest clothes
and went to do the burying myself.
In the sunset,
as I lifted the black, stinking mass on my shovel,
a man on a motorcycle stopped
and told me how me admired
my slim waist
and the lush curves of my ass
(though not in such kind words, of course).
I appreciated the feeling of being stronger
than two men
as I laid the body in the grave
and told the man he best ride on
before he, too,
ended up six feet deep in my yard.
5 thoughts on "A Woman’s Work"
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Like what you say about gender in this one–poems about strong women are always welcome!
where i’m from, being buried in a woman’s yard is innuendo… it’s a blues tradition. a beautiful one. even if the come-on ends up (literally!) a grave mistake!
very nice! I smiled!
Ha ha fantastic!
I love it! You go, woman!