Working Class Hero

My brothers knew The things you know. I did not scorn learning them; It’s just my mind Was busy being trained For “Other Things”: Poetry, Philosophy, Literature. Survival, for a girl. But now, What a relief To see you understand The ways Of horses Their shyness & hatred Of Loneliness: That you will not Hesitate To rescue An old horse, Dying on His feet & That you will Cheerfully Wash him, Aged & Incontinent Head To Toe. Missing With your bucket & Rag Not One Hidden Crevice As he Trembles & weeps. What peace To see Raising chickens Does not Mystify you and Hot water heaters & their ways Are well known; That electricity & how it Works Is something Within Your grasp. That you can Get a car To run By poking It in A few mysterious Places Under The hood. That you can Fix a Broken Anything: battery, truck, stove, Door, fridge, lamp, chicken coop hinge While teaching me The ins and outs Of Opera Or While singing Lusty Italian Tenor That Shakes The walls. That you can Sit, comfy, Unperturbed By traffic In the womb-like Back seat Of my Aging Chariot While I drive & you Ride The silver Black & Golden Horses Of Your Trumpet.