she have skinny leg
an’ knockin’ knees
she be cray-cray an’ loud
she defen’ her right to be
she drownin’ in chems ‘n’ high as a kite
she walk ever’where when she floatin’
she so ol’ she temptin’ fate
how she ain’ died is a mir’cle
Gawd mus’ reely love dat womun
‘zall I kin figger


c. 2023 Roberta Compton Rainwater

Some say,
laughter is the
best medicine.
While I have
found that to
be true, it's
become so
cliche.
An axiom I now
live by is that
mushrooms are
the best medicine.
Perception's door opens
wide, and my jaw aches
with laughter.
I can taste blue and
green, and hear
tulips sing lovely
ballads for the
squirrels that have
forgotten where they
buried their nuts.
I train my poems like
circus bears.
They rarely maul me.
And, just between
you and me,
The Birth of
Venus painting that
hangs above my
writing desk vibrates and
pulsates like the
Gulf of Mexico.
That red headed
temptress dances
seductively, long into
the night.
And now,
my kittens think
it's funny to
meow backwards.

I know I dreamed of you

so shoot me
bury me in an unmarked grave

and in a 1,000 years
archeologists will dig me up
only to discover
a dusty pitcher of margaritas
still cold

the ashes
of a half smoke cuban cigar

and the picture of you.

You can't see love
nor it's reflection
only the results

You can't see hate
nor it's origination
only the results

You can't see God
nor his glorification
only the results