Romance Poem

I grew up during WW2 when gas

and tires were rationed. A couple

times when an in-town boyfriend

wanted me to come over, his

folks being out, I’d ride my horse

downtown. But how could we

pitch a little woo with a horse

tied up in the driveway whistling

through his nose while stamping

impatiently to get back to the 

barn and his cozy stall? I 

quickly abandoned woo pitching

and rode my horse home – 

actually, the horse galloped. 

This article appears in June 4-10, 2026.