I would turn every saloon
in Kansas into a woodpile,

and issue an axe to every woman.

Who needs husbands
who come home
as if they've been stumbling
through a storm all night?

Do you think a fermenting husband
gets better with age?

Think of your husband's backhand,
which can fly in your face
faster than a curse
should you bring his drinking
up.

His liver
like a sponge soaked
all night in a tub of rum.

Are we to do nothing?

Girls, gather at the saloons.
Bring your axes, and throw

your stones like