Wondering

Charge the hill steep as it is
bayonets and all
calling loud to be the last tall tin soldier shouldering a legacy of swamp peoples
peopling the old wood dance floors of our cajun nation's historical lore
carry Father Francois' flag proud and the bastards later handed down
two-step march to war time tunes
high-stepping to hounds braying bloodlust 'cause they treed a doomed raccoon
Paw-Paw got a pair of them alligator skin boots
Maw-Maw in a moo-moo checking the trot-line at the prow of the canoe
a big blue slippery catfish barking at her like a rottweiler behind a chain-link fence
maw full of drool
Lou cussin' Gertrude
Gertrude cussin' the bullhead
not quite in English, not quite in French

Maybe I'm meant to carry this delicate legacy
but not actually live here in this muddy trench
sitting on my fists on the bench waiting my turn to make a play
seems silly
when half the team is simply walking away
is the fight worth the grit
do I keep my head down, throw mortars over the ditch
wondering should I go
wondering why stay

TA

These My Propensities

My faith
my consistent irresponsibility
my oft-colored nobility
the thick grey blood in the hallowed halls of my bloodstream
the thick grey vesicular knot of coiled string in my shallow balls
dead skin and sleeping dogs
then the empty threat of a shrieking god

and the wonder of it all

my face
my misplaced gentility
my propensity for proclivity
the empty rope coils covering the stains on my bed sheet
the various empty visions that parade within my sleep
cypress knees and pallid meat
heart within this heap
my shriveled core
gone door to door
dust to dust
and nothing more.

TA

In Robes and Regret

Is this Heaven, for Heaven's sake?
call it what you will stumble over your definitions
stumble through your very own joyful heartache
walk with me through the leaves
walk with me to the rake
angels lie awake whispering ghost stories to one another
about the king of snakes
priests fall in love with little boys for pleasure
but live in God's house for the tax breaks
tossed willy-nilly into the lake of fire
succumb to earthly desire
a fat tired black clad friar tosses his nuts in my throat
like a cat in the dryer
if I say I'm not a sinner am I liar?
higher powers call my cell phone by the hour
but I yell
COWARDS
tell it to my face
hang up the phone and send them on their merry way
stay
but stay
the sermon should be swell today
donuts afterwards in the sweltering heat
laced with as much grace as this tiny chapel can contain
I promise, father
to bend my knees
to plead and pray
my soul is yours
COWARD
despite whatever else I say.

TA

Betty

C'mon, baby, you know God gave you them fangs
so you can sharpen your knife,

C'mon, baby,
is it too much to be asked to be cut tonight?
ripe flesh flawed but displayed for the cutting,
the deer make haste through the woods
'cause the bucks are rutting,
find me bloodletting,
find me feeding on the dead skin cells in the folds of your bedding,
hasten the good men from the wedding,
may they run rabid like dogs chasing confetti,
may they strike you as lost men,
but deadly,
never to be savored by your harsh tongue of sand
and sin,

C'mon, Betty,
brandish that blade and let's begin this messy undoing
while your hand's still steady.

TA

Mud Hut Men

Is there no kit to welcome the foreign horde to our shores?
bag of last names pronounced phonetically
a list of the best boudin shops alphabetically
(cause no true top 10 list exists)

shift around the contents of this clutch
until your wayward fingers linger long enough
on a mud hut
built by savage men in the marshes
who survived the summer heat
who survived the mosquito sting
who survived the hurricane

but who could not survive the greed of man

dig past the pencils engraved in local stencils
and further contraband
until in the heart of your purse
cursed to see a people ignoble in their struggle
ignorantly denying they were the first to be damned.

TA

The Treatise Endless

Today the wind blew in cruel,
and on top of that bitter bitch's back blew in thunderstorms too,
too concerned with the rain in their bloated guts
to feel anything for a smattering of mortal fools,
zeppelins did loop-de-loops writing sky-cloud truths to warn
us of what would happen if the rain broke loose,

We stomped around in our cowboy boots
and seersucker suits ignoring the signs spelled out so well
o'er our roofs,
ignoring the clues,
invisible Zeus being pulled in a chariot of cumulonimbus clouds
loud with mad power within those tall terrible towers,

And then came the showers,
thunder broke into our homes like intrusive prowlers,
lightning leapt to the ground like the stem of a bright but temporary flower,
we prayed it'd be brief,
but the water fell for hours,

King Howard left his damp throne and rose into Heaven to plead with
the thunder god to lesson his aggression,
Oh, Sky Father, he cried, have compassion,
King Olympian, relinquish your transgression,
son of Cronos and the Titaness daughter Rhea, stave off this
sodden armageddon,
I am deafened by the awe of your legend, oh Pitcher of Thunderbolts,
but am here nonetheless on bend'd knee begging,
call off this wedding of earth and sky before we are buried alive
by water too high even for the mountain tops,
if this is a lesson then may this education session be terminated with prejudice,
we apologize with an emphasis on selflessness,
please, be sensitive of these bodies - our most precious possessions,
so fragile, so reckless,
a gift of your divine essence,
if someone must pay penance, then let ME, a humble king, step into the crevice,
spare us the endless menace of your jealous obsession,

It is said King Howard never returned from his visit to the clouds,
his proud son, the prince, bowed and was crowned,
the rain dried up,
ceased falling from the thunderclouds...
and then came the drought,

Again the people moaned and complained aloud,
groans were thrown like stones o'er the dustblown land,
until a bone-dry wind,
as cruel as sin,
sounded above the shouts,
drying out the words in the people's mouths,
a distant crackling sound,
the familiar fear,
the familiar doubt,

Another long-winded story of the disloyal and the devout,
most likely profound,
princes buried and forgotten in the sometimes scorched
and sometimes sodden ground,
surrounded by a long list of dead nobility under brown'd mounds,
alas, enough of sand and gout,
of downpours and heavy clouds,
that particular part of history,
I'm saddened to point out,
is not at all what this poem is about.

TA