fricking hoo she says you still white
white as Gods white-ass golf balls
I say shoot me already
at which point her mother brings the gun
when she pulls the trigger the confederate flag pops out
the mother says just kidding you want some dinner
and this time when she shoots
the table is covered
with turnips cornbread little cups
of mayonnaise colored pudding
what you looking at she says better eat your dinner
and the three of us say an honest grace
grateful uneasy
Lord we say
we need wings to match the other wings
we don’t have
we need a bubbling we can hold
Yahweh Hot Rod Sky Talker
talk to us Mister Master
Cloud Cork of the Transcendent Cava
Amen and Amen
but when we open our eyes
the food has vamoosed
and we all cry out stumbling in that wilderness
if we had soup we could have soup and crackers
if we had crackers . . . but of course
we don’t because love comes on like a weight
and a claw and a sucker-punch
and in the case of Mississippi
gateway to this our under-country
history is the dish that leaves us skinny
petrified forest of narcotic tornadoes
Scratch’s bullwhip
devil’s dancefloor
crackhead’s cruise ship
backwoods Medusa with a kudzu afro
whose green gaze
sprouts branches from the fluted
columns of Beauvoir
O hold my hand brother
before we return
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