Virgin At the Outhouse Door

JANUARY VIRGIN AT THE OUTHOUSE DOOR Not much of light, the cold had settled in, and made for her, sweet Laura of the farm, the quick of flight, down path direct and thin, and well known, for relief of her alarm. As farmer's daughters, she could be the tale of trav'ling salesmen, if one came around, but all her heat, her passion, old and stale, gave witness to the ice there on the ground. So needing love, but needing more to pee, she pulled upon the door, it opened not, and so she squatted, as no one could see, but froze onto the ground, her sudden blot. They found her in the morn, a chunk of ice, but didn't take her in, she looked so nice. © 2003 ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet