Lady, won’t you wait
out the hurricane
all night at my place—
we’ll take cover like
the lamps & I’ll
let you oil
my scalp. Please, I needs
a good woman’s hands
caught in my hair, turning
my knots to butter.
All night we’ll churn.
Dawn
will lean in too soon—
you’ll leave out into
the wet world, winded
& alone, knowing
the me only
midnight sees.
Copyright © 2015 by Kevin Young. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on October 9, 2015, by the Academy of American Poets.