A Cautionary Sonnet: I was biologically programmed to take advantage pretty girls, but its not my fault

that when I see her there--the place she goes when everyone is sleeping,
that she wishes for more than five dollars in her pocket,
tears slide down cheeks like grain for the reaping.
It’s like she begs for a picture to fill her locket.

I lend her mine. Follow the road that meets
the road that leads to my house.
“I love you,” she greets
me. No response-- I pull her blouse

down and lick her tears--the fall harvest.
She rains clothes on my floor--water for fields
of grain--Still, I’m the farthest
from a farmer or a picture for her locket-- but I heal

a ruined crop that left her poor, by taking her-- dirt cheap.
It’s how I tend to the fields, choosing to build her up when others asleep.