Richard Pearse

   Bo Grumpus Balls the Jack           

   Sugar plum, just bowl your cannonball one bounce into my cellar. Been too peaceable lately. Your blind eye can sigh all it wants, but it’s me the singing icons kiss.

O Piney! Every dark scar of ours hisses amiss. Can anybody else whistle like this? Not in our plenipotentiary rags.

   Old blue stovepipe gal, you glad we toddled off to Toledo? There we were—pro-Pan-American Exposition all the way–too tight!

   Sure as born, this bourbon & me team up—I’m the true Kentucky Fried. Now it’s off to Bogaloosa, Pontchartrain, then back to Yazoo, just for your barbecue.

   Just shoot your arrow through my jail cell, while my Blue Devils still got your shack surrounded. You marching thru Araby with me? Best never let the gentries know.

O dippermouth--I dream bleeding blackberries. But in my heart, on my knees, the lit question–you still want me back, notwithstanding my last gator wobble out of town?

 If you do, sorghum queen, wink your good eye.

read "You, If Only" by Richard Pearse