In the Land of Cotton

You were, of course, a beauty queen,
And, later on, a majorette. You knew
Your way around batons, and this was
Known to whats-his-name, the golden
Boy who married you, and set you up
To live the life of southern comfort
Mama'd always said would surely be
Your due, but then, your world came
Apart, as whats-his-name and some
Young chippy from the office hit it
Off, and, soon, the papers came to
You. Divorced, a mama now yourself,
You sank to where one not so golden,
I, could pass the time with you.
I bought you coffee, heard your tale.
I took your daughter to the zoo, and,
Hardly subtle, took your hand, and
Said, “You're still a beauty queen to
Me. Come whirl my baton.” That was
A couple years ago. The grass around
This home is dead. The home itself
Has been foreclosed. The bed within
Is old, but ours, and we, so far from
Southern comfort, carry on in poverty.
The love, which was once only lust,
Has lingered. I still cling to you,
A man whose future isn't close to
Golden having gotten all he could
From life beside a beauty queen.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 39 times
Written on 2013-12-08 at 03:15

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