when the cows come home

there's something I need
to tell you,
she says, whispering
across the table
with a flickering
candle between you.
she takes your hand
to ease the moment,
what you say, what,
thinking the worst.
you take a sip of
your drink, then
another.
you've heard it all.
I'm sick and dying,
I'm married, I'm
really a man wearing
a woman's dress.
I'm not fifty, I'm
seventy one.
my left leg is made
of wood.
what is it you say,
please tell me.
I'm, I'm a knitter
she says,lowering
her eyes. I love
to make quilts
and cross stitch.
it's what I do.
I love to rock
on the porch and knit
until the cows come
home. pffft, you say,
knitting. not a problem,
but cows? you say.
you have cows?