Athens, Ohio: 1966.
My Night Mare
”Make way the Bridge!” I shouted,
As we thundered toward the barn;
Myself, the horse, the bridge, of course,
Make up her favorite yarn.
Sitting on the horse’s back,
In her recurring dream,
She couldn’t make the monster move
From the middle of the stream!
Details call forth laughter,
Everyone enjoys the tale,
Of the husband then on horseback,
Looking grim and awfully pale,
As both approach the narrow bridge—
She humiliates the male.
No Pegasus in the wife’s retelling of the poor husband’s fate! Only a desperate nag eager to reach the barn and rid herself of the awful burden.