Everyone Has a Wild Child
Everyone has a wild child; she is sometimes the middle child.
And in our case I will call her T-burger, because that is her nickname.
This happened forty years ago, when she was eight.
My dad took T-burger and her sisters to the farm.
A place where he kept a bit of livestock, a garden, a smelly outhouse.
He also had his dad with him; so there was grandpa and great-grandpa
With three little girls who were ten, wild child, and five.
After a bit Great-grandpa got all excited and began to point and mutter.
He was losing it a bit, and could not talk as well as he once did.
Dad looked out to where they had been keeping a wild horse.
T-burger was ducking into the corral with the monster.
She walked right up to the bucking kicking overexcited thing.
The thing stopped bucking and kicking and let her pet it.
My dad looked at my uncle who was also there and said
“Wild knows wild”.
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