Cold rain falls in the river, flows down to the sea, gets into the skyline, circles endlessly. Same old rain on the wind, same old pain in my soul.

Monday, November 9, 2009

Northern Sky

Well, if there's any I haven't completely offended yet, this just might knock the fence-sitters down. Sometimes we find ourselves out of our element and in the rush to blend in, stumble into something better left to experts. I've spent many years in the South. Being a foreigner, it took me awhile to find my way. But the truth is, I'm Northern. Always will be. I just need to be a better visitor to the South.


Warning #1- The language in this piece is rough and raw. If you are offended at all by such language, you may want to skip this read.

Warning#2-To all my friends south of the Mason-Dixon; please put on another layer of skin. I know the south is beautiful and the list long as to why so, this is just a tongue in cheek post about finding myself far from home.

I’ve swooned
and wooed
to the southern belle charm
just a hip swagglin whore
eyelash batting her way
confederate ranks.

oh, yes,
she slapped my sloppy white ass
while bubble gum popping
to my school girl giggle

“well, mah, aintchu a perky thang!”

why yes, ma’am, I demurred.
all rubbin my ass,
sweet and shy

I flashed my tah tahs
and threw up at Bristol
got banged by four
under a peach tree in Atlanta
and two-finger whistled
a Dallas rodeo
while he slipped his hand
down my panties
to take my temperature

she always said,
“ya’ll come back!”
but that’s the problem;
she always said it
and she always called me ‘Hon’

my ass got sloppier.

not sure if it was Bubba’s BBQ
or Bubba’s cooking me
over his rusty tailgate.

now don’t get me wrong,
ain’t nothing wrong with Bubba
or his bent up gate.

ain’t nothing wrong with
Earnhardt or Bristol
or getting fucked
under a peach tree
by boys baked
in the jungle heat
all ‘baccer plug droolin

but I woke up
one day,
all tramped out.
I smelled it fore I seen it.

I tried from the window,
but it was too small.
So I kicked open that door,
that mother son of a bitchen door
and stepped outside.

There it was,
higher than I remembered it.
bronze and gray
and three sheets to the wind
yet stone sober
and beautifully stoic

the northern sky.
My Northern Sky.
The sky that coddled my wet dreams
in moose shit
and bear scratch.

the sky that froze the moon white
and lured me to hidden wonders
the sky that made me one with the universe
on starry nights of chosen solitude.
The sky that understood Christmas
and strong armed spring behind the rockies

it shouldered me,
in the doorway
through mournful cries
of a weeping wind
that a cypress
could never translate.
but I could,
with the help of a pine
and a hungry grayjack

the southern lady
wouldn’t give two shakes of a stick
for this bullshit we call North

blizzard sittin
to a five gallon bucket
on a twenty below field of scarred ice

mosquito slappin
to the last sunfish
on a loon guarded lake

snow shovelin
cable jumpimg
pipe freezing son of an ornery ass mother

we’re too stupid to make money at a yard sale,
we just wanna get rid of shit
and our barbeques
are mostly just hamburger

A girl hardly ever
gets banged by four guys
under a tree
cuz it’s too damn cold,
pine needles hurt
and she’d slap em silly
for the try

So now my ass
is not so sloppy
I’m relearning
“good deal” and “you betcha”
and I’ve become invisible
below 72 degrees

my perfidy forgiven,
the Northern sky
has come to scold
and take me home.