she will need a stable boy

           to live

in the outhouse on the land

           her boyfriend will buy

with inheritance money 

           & he will call it theirs.

she will be its biggest asset

           bigger than the stone walls,

wood burner, mushrooms

           on trees in the woods 

behind the house, she

           all soil fingered, small of her 

back curved like the under-

           side of a mussel shell, 

with great interior design taste.

           her paintings will fill the walls &

there will be rooms used only

           for drying flowers

& he will make food only delicate, 

           gentle people can make

with beetroot from the garden

           he unearths tenderly

pulling from the world.

           & from the stable

next to the horse 

           i will watch

the autumn sky grow dark,

           warm light coming through the window

(my left hand on the oily back 

           of the horse)

his left hand throwing a log on the fire

           some obscure record playing

& i will stay a good boy

           until the flames 

spit to ember, the deep hot outbreath

           from the horse’s nose

my own record playing

           i can almost hear him 

say goodnight

           i can almost feel her hand

on the door handle, the sharp inbreath 

           she takes when the night air

touches her skin as she steps

           toward the stable