Would we were all randy pinto ponies,
free on a plain and green,
sniffing each other’s little asses
and licking what we liked,
rolling our fat dandy haunches
in the new-mown hay,
dragonflies buzzing our soft, soft manes,
the keenest picture
in a child’s favorite story, the one
where there is, however,
a villain, a good and a bad, some sense
of honor at the end.