Roger Singer

Ain’t it grand?

muddy waters,

delta deep,

catfish frying,

jambalaya boiling,

sugar cane bending

from warm

thick passing,

southerly breezes.

 

Ain’t no denying

music in the soul,

gotta get out

past mamma Jem

into icy pans

where beers waiting

and whiskey calls

with cool drops

to sooth my hots.

 

Girls deep dancing,

and hips twisting

like silly moss,

tapped by winds

turning corners

past sweet hands

into brushed hair

where my fingers

live.