Hay in My Bra

I was digging through a drawer and came across an old notebook. I used this notebook during a "Women in Literature" course. While flipping through it I came across a little poem type thing that I wrote a long time ago and thought I'd share it.

Yes, I feed in the morning. Scoop out the grain and divy up the hay. I really look good in my business suit with my pants tucked down in manure flecked boots.
The horses crunch their breakfast slow, unaware that I'm late for work and gotta go.
I stretch the hose out to the trough so they have fresh water. With my sleeves rolled up I skim off the green slime, I try to remember why I even bother.
My mare looks amused as I start to wonder where to wipe my hand, I didn't give forethought before I blundered. So as a little revenge on my tickled horse I wipe the remaining slime on her blanket of course.
However, more savvy than me is my astute mare, now from elbow to fingernails I'm tarred with horse hair.
Now I'm later than ever so my mare get turned out in the field. It's now after eight, my boss is fed up and my fate is sealed.
I fly away from the barn, toward the city I zoom. I catch a peek at myself in the ladies room.
I have hay in my hair and hay in my bra. I'm certain nobody will notice at all.