My Southern Legitimacy Philosophy: The minute I cross the Louisiana border, strangers assume I’m a neighbor, distant relative, someone they know. Like I never left. Maybe it’s my brassy humor, my tuba laugh.
Wheel of Misfortune
When my future ex stepped from his
white Caddy, tanked, and the dick threw his Moby
into reverse in plain sight for all idling neighbors
to witness, T-boning my driver’s side door,
God of Mirth, were you outdone?
Oh, Big Wheel, Misfortune, asleep
at some other wheel? Welcome back.
What you drive home I cannot take
all the way to the bank. This bankrupt heart
withdraws too little too late. The candy apple
red replacement panel rests warily
against misaligned door number three,
a blocked entrance to our basement
of suspect odors. And beyond that game door,
Oh Mr. Price Is Not Right, a refrigerator
weeps coolant alongside the baby
grand with its slack pedal rod.
