Wet Nap Burlap

a pasty pastoral poem

inspired by Martin Rushton’s Wet Dream Moonbeam

photo: Lorri Lang

Wet Nap Burlap

When the midday sun rides high
Leaving the fields scorched and dry
What’s a lazy farm hand to do
Rest his pitchfork, kick off his shoe —
Crawl into the barn’s cool crevice
(Perhaps with a head of lettuce?)

Thus did I lay back one day
Sprawled out on a cot of hay
And then, snugly situated
Creature comforts satiated
Felt a sudden breezy chill
And — in no mood to wake up ill —

Adrift in my state of mind
Looked what cover I could find
Happened on a burlap sack
Sure, in smoothness it did lack
It was scratchy, it was icky — 
But I couldn’t be too picky

So I pulled that makeshift duvet
Up my torso — halted midway — 
Felt a curious sensation
Around my pelvic location
Sent a shiver up my spine
To my brain — in a bee line