​This is Mississippi
 
There is something about a hot night
That isn’t ever going to cool off--
No gentle breeze around ten PM,
No fog rolling in.
This isn’t San Francisco;
This is Mississippi
Or some place else a long time ago
Before engineers grabbed control
Of the air we breathe--
Before the big refrigerated Wall Marts
Killed the animal in us.
 
This is the kind of place
Where people walk over to the minimarket
On the corner at midnight for an Eskimo Pie,
Where a man can go through a gallon of sweet tea
Before the baseball game is done,
Where dogs live in a hell all their own,
And the women put on those flimsy summer dresses
And don’t even think about underwear.
Then they say, “Screw it,” (even the polite ladies,)
“I’m not frying any chicken tonight.”
 
There’s something edgy about those steamy evenings
That makes you want to get out your old
Otis Redding records and sing along,
Makes you want to go out dancing
With a guy you know is no good
Just because he’s got an air-conditioned Impala
With a cooler in the back seat
Full of root beer.
 
People take risks on nights like this--
They get sick of their own sweat
And run away from home.
They write a letter to someone
Who broke their heart way back when,
And even stick a stamp on it.
And after they’ve kicked off the sheets
For the tenth time just before the doves wake up,
Those mournful heralds of another hot dawn,
They start to wonder
If they could have been wrong about God.
 

​The Stranger
 
            “At the dark end of the street, you and me…,” Recorded in 1966 by James Carr
                        Written by Lincoln Moman and Dan Penn
 
Glossy black as the rocks below the tide,
Eyes green as the sea minutes before the storm strikes
Whiskers and paws the same white as the breakers on the far horizon,
And all, filled with the same danger as the unknowable sea.
 
You came to me on your own terms, untouchable,
Claws and teeth poised to turn.
When you eat the food I offer at every red dawn,
None of it is about me.
You sleep in my precious crystal bowl in sparkling sunbeams
And don’t care if it falls over when you exit.
You knock down my glorious pink anthurium in the warm noon,
Turn your back and walk away.
When I nap in the twilight with my faithful, golden dog
Curled into my core’s crescent,
You eat his food behind his back, nap again,
Then shred my ancient lace tablecloth, filled with memories
Of Grandma, long ago.
 
But when the night’s dark door opens,
And the sea is nothing but a pulsing drum,
You pounce on my chest,
Push your paws up and down all over me,
Purr like the longing lover in an unremembered dream,
Possess me with circles and jumps, and feline lyrics,
Urging me to reach through the starlight
And touch your strong back,
Stroke you from your silken ears to the tip of your serpentine tail--
Till you settle, then I settle
Together into our secret sleep.
 
                        March 26, 2020