It doesn’t make falling down fun,
this elixir. The road takes its turn
at the bridge. Saturday night dance
inside the Circle Inn.
Who plays in a trance?
Why pitch a body against an urn
waiting to be filled?
Being dead is no excuse
for living like this.
Hawaiian guitar, cowboy tunes
up the ass, go to the city for jazz.
Can’t wait? Get down,
like she says: Here, on top of me,
or wait, I'll straddle you.
The dope works. The booze levels out
a high. The river gurgles by.
O, she pleads, Get down low:
hard cock, hot cunt,
Hank Williams never had it so good
and couldn’t stop before he did.
(23 July 2011)
copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander