Treasure Island

Is It Poetry

(1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)

Soft Cotton Squeezed

Cotton rocked back inside that moody patch.
And white washed fence
with songs of the southland
and lazy dusty bottoms
my coon hound and ford pick up
how I prayed.

Eyes inside the curtains
lovely sleep and deeply to reveal
and tongues are slowly moved
back and forth I hear muffled sound.

Brown eyes can't but slowly follow
arresting new sundresses
old and never out of fashion
giving not the sun a yellow thought.

Southern heat
and lazy days
I sip ice tea through a clear long straw
day old butter milk and corn bread
hear it sweetly call.

While salty sweat pools in shadows
cool I find with no regrets
those tanned cotton bottoms tan brown skins.

Southern common sultry post modern looks
seen in a
page turning southern living magazine
while clouds white warm
some are even hot on day's like this
while to most is all I see
Soft cotton squeezed.

Submitted: Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, July 24, 2013
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