Summer Harvest
Boys baked brown
By a midday sun
Beating down
On Indiana hay fields—
Taut stomachs, tight buttocks in sweaty jeans,
Unbuttoned shirts catching wind and showing skin
In the back of a pickup truck . . .
You laugh
When I tell you
My libido
Can still be stirred
By the scent
Of new mown hay.
Girl, you should have been with me in the sixties,
Before the fields were stripped
And that summer harvest
Was
Shipped
Out
To
Vietnam.
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