She's not a big city girl,
lives just outside it
on the outskirts,
where living
them slickers say
is not as tough
as the mean streets.

But she can skin a ****,
bale hay all day long &
knock a bottle off at 40 yards.
I saw her once run
up a thousand granite stairs
like an Olympic runner
& she picks tomatoes
by the bushel.

And at night,
when the moonlight
comes around,
I can smell her sweet cornbread,
she feeds me just right,
tames the beast in me
& that ain't easy townies.