A Southern Smile

Chair, the room with

white walls

Come… sit down to fry.

My body balloons with

a fever

Mother somewhere, cries…

My man sits down to break-

fast

sits down to food-feast.

My body longs a drink to health

longs a sad sweet sleep.

Rest easy my man I drift

by-e

All hail your toast and jam,

I taste your last bit of Oran-juice

Such soft shoulders in my hands.

A flip of wrists; neck-twist,

feel sadness,

a Southern lady screams in pain.

I’m drawn away to face the

day

looks like a sky-rain.

All is lost my body tossed

on a cool linen sheet,

Must have been a dream my friend

One dreamed quick before I sweet-sleeped.

“It was in all the papers,”

  said the man,

“So fine a Southern belle,

  the same morning he was

  fried, God rest him –“

  -- he smiled --

“God rest him in hell.”