- Erotic Poetry
- Alone On The Silage
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We piled the cut grasses in the barn
Ten feet high tween concrete walls
And left them to ferment
Silage has a pretty scent
Soft to the touch, after a week or two
it clumps and smells like sugared raw tobacco
A pleasant masculine scent
In the winter when the fields were barren
The cows who'd feast upon it
Their big eyes delighted in its taste
In late summer, when darkness came early
Mary McCormick and I would climb a wooden ladder
To lie up there in the cool perfumed air
Soft as a fine mattress
We'd play love's ancient game
Thereupon the silage
Oh, to where has my bonnie lass
taken her sweet breasts and lovely ass?
Off to work in London or Manchester?
Where the coal haze burns the eyes
and the British boys make babies
in our country girl's cunts?
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