Kelly Joe Phelps
Tight To The Jar
It's a ditch, okay. I have shoes and a blanket
My head resting light on a stone.
Though it's hard it's still rounded with a pocket for Brains or what goes for in halls under roof tile.
We'll sing another blistering ballad for grandma,
Melody sweet till it rolls out the ear,
And the beer flows free as advice
With a tight hand holding the jar.
The mud cakes my chin strap, fills up my cuffs
As I plod, now, from creek edge to street side.
As it dries I can whittle it little by little.
"Hey, look, now I'm light as a bee."
Those gray clouds mean nothing to one such as I
Though shadows stand tall as some school master whack on the back of a well intentioned quiet kid.
Arms held fast to the jar.
And it's slow, so slow the idea,
The coming around of a sensible word.
It hovers and shakes like a hummingbird wing
At the end of a long hot year.
Fry up that supper, we'll kill it for breakfast
Turn the table down side and crazy.
With the legs up, the women up, the men up to Church for the spirit, the hen yard, the bent steel Tack wrap.
It's a ditch, yeah, I know that. And, I do wonder
How that bright faced, ten year old me of a boy
Found the road out I never could see
With my eyes held tight to the jar.
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