Tuesday, December 05, 2006

the fish fry: a cautionary tale

why? because

she smokes;
even against better judgment
eats grits with butter, despite the cholesterol

and she’s hungry. Add to that

a philandering good-for-nothing
two bit desire
two parts liquid longing
allowed to boil and billow
over open barrel blues
served raw with sizzling peaches
-- the pits

her saving grace-
wedding vows broken
before the stone faced china
a man who loved the idea of her,
like fat free buttermilk

it's the teeth. they said
opulent, square, they rest in the beveled
corners of brown lips
dripping with diamonds
that make even mighty panties
drop mighty

frying up rendezvous
two by two; over easy
ma'am, he says breathily
i'll take mine to go

her frizzy curls suck the humidity like a pipe
sticking to her neck like skin
she's archetypical
tar black and nappy headed
on saturday nites the only kitchen
she's fingering
is the pulse of the stolen moment
on the cusp of venus touch, moon rising
hearing her heart
pirouette in his obsidian stomach

a slip of his hand bows to her greatness
under a wind blown sheer dress
she's been told not to soil

they crushintolove

easy on the eggshells
eyes open
eating hot id, greedily, and bare handed

that southern style
sweet meat
that flakes
like fish
when hot

he offers himself
stirring her soulfully
golden glass bubbles
blow from
the cast iron
so quickly

they never saw the trigger

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