Poem: "August Night, 1972"

This summer poem was written based on several photographs in family albums.

The sickly sweet smell of ground water,

George Jones singing on the radio

An eighty degree night--

Frogs deafening, my wife more so.

Tomorrow, we bury the matriarch

Tonight, we drink tequila

Everything goes down better with José

Well, most things

I don't know if the sweat

Is from the heat or the liquor

I don't know if the pain

Is from the sadness or the swallow

One to the moon, one to ourselves,

Two for George, two for momma

Salt, lime-- shew-- back it goes

One more for good measure

The frogs drown out ol' George

We start to bustle in for the night

I grab Jeannie's rump and thank

The stars for someone to pull close

They can bury me tonight too

I'd die happy, my hand on her ass

George singing me a lullabye

And the sickly sweet smell of ground water