: Passing the Barnyard Graveyard :
an excerpt by Sonia Greenfield
I sang Elvis to the shorn sheep,
and they didn’t run away.
I sang Patsy to the fine ass
who chewed crabgrass and brayed.
I sang Bonnie to the bunny:
mini, milk-eyed, and grey.
I sang Johnny to the Billy goat.
He could have listened all day.
I sang Piaf to the gravestones:
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