“I met Elvis in Louisville,
He signed my record
And kissed my cheek.”
She pointed to
The framed vinyl
Hanging beside the old cross.
The man in the rocking chair
Coughed and bit into an apple.
The woman cut into a
Seven tier molasses cake.
The radio played the National Anthem,
And the old man twirled his fingers in the air,
Whistling as the wind came in through
The window.
I’m chasing after a man who looks like my Great Grandpa.
He was a **** with a salty side eye,
Blue pearls embedded in his
Masochistic, alcoholic head.
Oil! Coal!
Black lung!
Liquid gold off the brushes,
Mines are still
There but the town is sold.
Things that
Have played out long before I
Was born.
Freshly rolled cigarettes
By hand.
His lighter was Navajo blue
And his mustache was alright
He came from San Francisco
But he was born in Wheeling
“Come on in, Jim,
The *** is boiling.”
She said from behind
The screen door.
“Hold on,
I’m talking politics with
The youngin’.”
And as he said that,
He rolled his lips in
An O.
“Put it in your mouth.”
He said as he gave me
A cigarette.
He lit it up,
And told me to inhale.
I blew the smoke out of
My nose,
I didn’t cough
But my eyes watered.
He got up and left me
On the porch with
A rolled stogie
And playing cards with
Pretty women on top.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 4:02 PM UTC
“I met Elvis in Louisville,
He signed my record
And kissed my cheek.”
She pointed to
The framed vinyl
Hanging beside the old cross.
The man in the rocking chair
Coughed and bit into an apple.
The woman cut into a
Seven tier molasses cake.
The radio played the National Anthem,
And the old man twirled his fingers in the air,
Whistling as the wind came in through
The window.
I’m chasing after a man who looks like my Great Grandpa.
He was a **** with a salty side eye,
Blue pearls embedded in his
Masochistic, alcoholic head.
Oil! Coal!
Black lung!
Liquid gold off the brushes,
Mines are still
There but the town is sold.
Things that
Have played out long before I
Was born.
Freshly rolled cigarettes
By hand.
His lighter was Navajo blue
And his mustache was alright
He came from San Francisco
But he was born in Wheeling
“Come on in, Jim,
The *** is boiling.”
She said from behind
The screen door.
“Hold on,
I’m talking politics with
The youngin’.”
And as he said that,
He rolled his lips in
An O.
“Put it in your mouth.”
He said as he gave me
A cigarette.
He lit it up,
And told me to inhale.
I blew the smoke out of
My nose,
I didn’t cough
But my eyes watered.
He got up and left me
On the porch with
A rolled stogie
And playing cards with
Pretty women on top.
