We venture to Tennessee together,
my Indian and I,
with slop on the roads
riding in each other’s laps.
All the time, my face,
hangs its droopy eyes out the window
to catch fire flies in the eyelids.
Once, we played with six shooters:
evenings filled with port and
bacon-wrapped minion.
You licked my face like a dog when
we assailed the neighbor’s hedgerows
to pop BBs in front seat of your Volkswagen.
But now, now Tennessee
and the tin siding of your face
that I imagine as I bed you in rust
Laying you on the springboard mattress stamped
Captain Daniels Adventure Highboy
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