He smells like the rotted breath
from a dead lung and swaggers
as if he isn’t the last call at a dive bar.
My (no)soles heel the side walk
right past him loud enough to make
the dead dance, but wasted Romeo
is too beer eared to hear never.
He lunges…I sidestep…The ice house
choir dollars a bet on how long it will
take drunk lover to rise from his fall.
Some call me tin angel, others swamp call
me broom eyed…I don’t care if it’s wings
or cauldron…I’ll follow whatever anointing
it takes when a woman calls my number
and tells me, “I don’t feel safe in this place.”
I remember occassions where a broom eyed tin angel would have made me feel a lot safer in some places. As long as society is OK with men behaving like this, the tin angel's services are needed.
ReplyDeleteThis is so hot. I'd want her eyes, and fierce tongue, to accompany me everywhere!
ReplyDeleteLove this especially:
"I don’t care if it’s wings
or cauldron…I’ll follow whatever anointing
it takes when a woman calls my number"
Ice house! Now that's Texas!
ReplyDeleteI really want to hear you read this aloud.
ReplyDeleteWhat a fun read. I am not up on Texas slang but I could still figure this out. a very smart and sexy read.
ReplyDeleteVery stirring! I am stomping my feet, yelling and cheering.
ReplyDeleteI liked the tin angel bit. Reminds me of my roommate's ex wife. She died and her friends tossed her ashes into a swimming hole part of a lake near Austin. Then they all chanted and threw their beer cans in after. I won't say more, not ever.
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Thanks for peeking in on my previous post, it was a fun but mixed up write.
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Beautifully written, sadly so often tin angels are too scarce to help.
ReplyDeleteI love the voice in this and understood most of it... which is the case with real slang versus invented one (like I did)... and of course I love women standing up for themselves, wings or cauldron doesn't matter.
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