‘member that tulsa twilight?
by Bailey Harrison
papa rockin ya’
crouched in knee-high wild rye,
hidin’ in its hookin’ whiskers
while the blaze-born twilight sinks.
whole time he whisperin’ buttery blues
into cascadin’ cotton fluff coils
and reachin’ jack rabbit ears.
sausage roll arms outstretched for rough-hewed
hymns, drippin’ from his marlboro mouth
evenin’s sweet tea and whiskey
driftin’ together on his breath,
just sputterin’ lips and stingin’ acid
rancid like mama’s mortgaged womb
rooted in reminders of supremacist
of propertied to property displaced.
fire flutterin’ in sanguine hues,
businesses burnin’ a putrid fume
moneyed marketplace a meltin’ inferno empty
amidst the ravenous
haze.
flames breakin’ behind his back
and the cabin evaporates in the hungry
night.