July 2007

Down-home Country

I was
Making some cornbread,
In a cast-iron skillet,
That’s been rinsed out
A hundred times,
But never really cleaned,
I mix cornmeal
And butter, and think
About our dinner date,
Your simple cotton
Dress, how it flows in the
Evening breeze,
I hope you’ll wear it tonight,
And we’re all out of
Buttermilk, but I only
Need a spoonful,
So I set my mind to
Thinking, you in
That dress, and before
Long, my pumping
Has produced something
Fruitful, a handful of cream
To make cornbread,
For you



Prolonged courtship, thousands of miles away
As I’m shot at, garroted, nearly run through
With a flock of shrapnel, but this is what your
Freedom’s worth to me, and when we have
A beautiful blond haired, blue-eyed baby
Girl or boy, prom queen or quarterback,
Student Council President, in any case, the world
Will be free of those who target our fair nation,
Turn her resources against us, judge us, they
Dare judge us?!! Haven’t we provided for them
Like I provided for you? And then they blow
Our shit up, like you fucked and sucked
Bobby Jenkins down the street? Your letter
Was a slap in the face. When I get home
From this desert, I’m punching the fuck out of you.

Could you be quiet, too?

We shared our desires:
Committed and non-judgmental,
I swallowed my pride
As you buckled…
What I can only call
A dildo harness, on your
Delicate bell-shaped hips, we
Did that, and now
It’s your turn, so please
Lay here, the tub’s filled
With ice and water, and once
You pat dry, be nice and still
And try not to breathe
Too noticeably.