And the Nubians Slept

“It’s colder than hell,” the old farmer hollered.

His beautiful neighbor, dark and smiling, shouted,

“You better get those goats inside your kitchen.”

“They smell,” he laughed.  She smiled

“I want to marry that woman,” He mumbled.

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear that,” She knew.

“I was talking to my goats, gotta milk them.”

She and her basket of eggs were already walking away.

Charlie Barnett was eighty and knew the woman wouldn’t marry him.

Bertha had been gone for nearly twenty years.  Shirley lost her husband to the war.

Charlie knew Shirley would say no.  After all she was a Black woman and he was

a wind beaten White man.  Such arrangements were unheard of in Cass County

North Dakota.  At least in post war America.  Fuck, as far as Charlie knew every

country was a post war country.

She turned me on,

smooth dark delicious

like French candy.

Nights were warm,

heavy covers and frost,

the Nubian goats slept

The time for change is here.