There Where Cotton Is Squeezed Poem by James McLain

Cotton rocks back inside that moody patch..
and white washed fence........songs of..the..
south land...and lazy dusty bottoms.. pray..

Eyes split the curtain.. so sleepy...and reveal..
how tongues are slowly grooved...blacksmiths...
hammers muffled sounds...mindful needing..oil...

Brown eyes can't but slowly follow........
arresting new sundresses...old this fashion..
giving not even one sun a yellow thought...

Southern heat sips through day old fabric..
while sweat pools in shadows... cool..to..
best...warm wind.....and the blacksmith...
lends more color too those tanned skins....
that common sultry post modern day look...
not seen in a post..southern living magazine...
while clouds white warm even hot...on days....
like this..while to most see...cotton squeezed.