Is/Too Poem by James McLain

Genteel lights will only now lay dim
when the city's in sleep, to begin.

I can not fill you up like that
with only words, I am southern.

I will, if I must, If you will but ask
out here in the open, you decide.

I slap out my hat on my leg dusty roads
will you or will you not, the road is now dark.

Why do you grow short of breath may I ask
I see past the stain on your face is it anger.

You seem harried in such disarray
those buttons are in the the wrong holes.

The room smells of sherry
your father I'm not.

You smell not of that but of what I can't place it
quickly now answere, my pistol should I fetch it.




m.a.