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.
Roger Singer 