In April the Morgan was bred. I was chased away.
I heard the cries of the horse where I waited,
And the laughter of the men.
Later the farmer who owned the stallion
Found me and said, “She’s done.
You tell your daddy he owes me fifty dollars.”
I rode her home at her leisure
And let her, wherever she wanted,
Tear with her huge teeth, roughly,
Blades from the fields of spring.
From New and Selected Poems, Volume One, Beacon Press.