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
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