Without
the smiling scarecrow
now hatless and bald
braves the elements,
shirt faded dirty white
over a stick body.
androgynous effigy
without even crickets
for company in these
snowy fields.
you are not the only one
without a mate to call
you own. somehow
i was born without
a star-crossed lover
written into the script.
wed to brush and palette,
pen and paper
without my consent,
without the knowledge
of how hard it is
to scare those crows away
without a voice
just a silly painted face

