rockabilly plays me dirty,
wanda jackson knocks on the battered door
with the force of a battering ram.
it's well before
eight thirty;
at midnite
i might feel flirty
and fly around the room
like a drunken birdie.
cruel words could never hurt me, and
insipid actions, well,
they sure won't perturt me.
wanda was wearing
a dashing chessboard skirt,
many pawns hanging in the shadow of queens,
fujiyama mama while i mope in moldy pajama,
her sweaty croons can re-align stray moons,
and blow mountaintops off the complacency
of silver spoons.
i first heard the reigning queen of rockabilly,
under an oak tree whose branches sagged
like breasts too heavy with mother's milk.
i drank a cheap bottle of boone's, head getting lost
in some wished-for sand dunes.
"I never kissed a bear/I never kissed a goon
But I can shake a chicken/In the middle of the room"
