I lack a certain charm

I’m a gal, raised on a farm.
Now citified, I lack a charm
I had back then. “Just why?” you ask,
“Because you don’t perform the task
Of milking cows or tossing bales,
Or slopping pigs with dented pails?”

That’s not it. I never did.

I never farmed. I was the kid
Who settled back with book in hand—
Putting my head in the sand—
Ignoring tasks that should be done.
After all, I wanted fun.

“Why?” you ask. “Is it because

you left behind your various flaws?”

You want a list? Here are a few.

I wanted ‘feesh’ for supper, true.
I used to walk ‘acrost’ the road
I ‘axed’ a friend to see his toad.
I used to say ‘it don’t,’ ‘it ain’t’—
My accent sounded very quaint.
I liked my feesh and taters fried,
But idiosyncracies aside,
That made me what I am today.
It’s not the reason why I say
I lack a charm that once was mine—
A special charm that made me shine.

“Is it because of things you miss?

The outhouse scene, the icy bliss
Of chilling wind climb up your skirt,
The sulfur smell, the farmer dirt,
The friends who lived so very far—
And you without a working car—
The loneliness, the werewolf scare
The coal that drifted through the air?
Puking on the bus to school?
(Not that, I’m sure—you’d be a fool.)”

None of those cause me to say

I lack the charm of yesterday.

And now’s the time to tell you why—

Promise me you will not cry—
Don’t carry on, do not imbibe—
It’s really time.  I must describe
The charm I had—no longer mine—
A bright red heart and very fine—
Went on a bracelet ‘round my wrist
And there it is. And there’s the twist.