Burned

The track was deep in shadow after noon,
As trees stretched out tired branches in a sun,
So pallid that it could have been the moon,
Which shone down cold; it had barely begun
To heat the fence or dry the winter mud,
When you were told to lean, ready for use;

I had in mind a spanking that would flood
Your mind with thoughts so tangible, each bruise
Would stay as livid, as when it was formed
A mere moment ago, when you were stripped;
And, with a certain fury, you were warmed:
Your haunches and your thighs were soon well-whipped;
,
You'd barely slid your jeans on, when I turned
And called: the sun is cold, but you got burned.