Wither Away, Friend

An ill-matched pair,
I’d hate to drive them as a team,
she with a big full-bosomed voice
full of muscle, and he squeaks
through the debris of his replies.
She sentenced him to her kind of order
and prophesied dire moments
if he did not keep his backyard tools
picked up and stored out of sight.
As it comes to some men,
a revelation came to him and
his toolshed became a safe house
where an old rocking chair
and floor lamp made a cozy refuge
from the harsh weather of her tongue.
Now a file of girlie magazines
makes the sap rise and he smiles
to think of the whole house,
with room after room empty of him
for her to holler through.