She fishes from the tabletop, a random curve of salt
Her past
blended with a spicy array of flavors peppered and
tossed like a salad in
remission. And as she sleeps through the roast,
sizzling skills itself in fellowship rehab down her
thighs
Summers demise caught between autumns golden
moments and holidays in hock stiffels her dance
as the table sways to undulations steeped in
sweaty ways, her waist same as it ever was, only more;
such amplitude to soothe a thorough loam, like sliding
through a gorgeous mud that glitters in tranquil
warmth on the hands, that shimmers for days under
nails that can't bring themselves to scratch the more
petulant itches
They squander earnings their sweat imitating
hers only she looks beyond them out into dusty
nitemares that brought her here, she only smiles
a repulsive grin for their offering and the music
carves its way into her moves


Lewis LaCook/Carrol Wetherington
/*composed in the Poetry Workshop Conference at the
trAce Webboard*




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