[20]

When proxy all night I poured Jack into

the morning. Heat makes the dogs heave

on the porch, blue the roof

to dissuade dirt daubers from home-making—

& ramshackle that which keeps him well-nourished,

High Life, his Redbreast. Hourglass round

the steakhouse, if I started up again no one could

keep me from trying, all night a rodeo, all morning

rye grass, water to paw I could roll into your body

to keep me safe not sage, but the longing,

the still of incomprehension, the bottles from

the speedrack I drove off another night bruised legs &

G Straited myself right again, all Jäger down my arms,

whiskey arms & all over my britches, you could

punch the eye of. A homemade mother

never washing dishes, such gentle hands, nutshells

across the floor, left your boots that lasted

three tours to the monsoon, mama,

her boy, my boy, her dissolute sadness.

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Copyright © 2011 Shelly Taylor All rights reserved
from Black Warrior Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission