CoffeeShop Blues: 2015 Traveler's Edition - Page 62

CoffeeShop Blues The Home Young ladies, lass, fresh and clean ripe in pluck of ‘morrow’s fruit grabbed, in bite sweat, swig of ale and rubbed ‘tween teeth and lips these spring-time maids, fallen women sperm and spawn Each month they grew more disgraced six labored layers, stones waiting down to drop Their milk soured in rage and spilt missing, forgotten months and mouths shrank, to pitch in dark and dank femur, hip, pelvis, toe fetal and fecal entombed in unnamed remembrance The earth refused to swallow holding histories hand gloved The wanted swing and sway, now above pressing down in the lightness of laughter “There’s no place like home.” 62