she got a ghetto guffaw and a freight train roar
she was a big-boned woman with a brood-bitch stare
a magnum worth of whore w a power down to therethat beady-eyed bitch got a snapped-off killswitch
a peg for a leg and torque for tits
in our time together she got sawed-off and stitched
and one day she ate my trailer hitch
she was grind and no mind
a tractor cross with a high-speed hunter
she runned a oil like a chunky peanut butter
her hindquarters got a black-girl wobble
get her gun-down-gun she grunt like an ox
“Come on boy … get down on that throttle.”
she was a alpha bitch bike
a brahma cow she stare down them rodeo clowns
she good to go a fifteen rounds
and she suffered me like the women in my life
“now looka here, see these injectors? …
she spray your face with a fistful o gas
“they’re built to cum with a shot in the ass”
my once wife
my yet daughter
this month’s centerfold
and the ever mother
short of leg and long on go
“i got a waist like a wasp”
and a rack like bardot
she had a stub of a nose and a gap of a tooth
got her tilt in her lilt with her thigh-high boots
she put a two-smoke hex on them tee-shirt squids
she threw a spit of a chaw on their pissboy hoots
one-hundred-thirty-seven, indicated
between the north Carolina cornrows
the towpath trail at Harpers Ferry
say “fuck you car … i own this road”
Farmer Jack, his three-fifty-seven
a short-shorted piece o tail on his greasy hog’s ass
under the powerlines in the orange dust
reflected in his mirrored sun glass
Turn One at BeaveRun
“boy, get them barbecue and that slaw”
Turn seven at V-I-R all suspension compression
One hour outta Charlottesville, runnin’ and gunnin’ the county law
“fuck off deputy … aint your jurisdiction”
“go spoon with your sergeant, go jack your jaw”
I keep running these girls down
down in the sand at Chincoteague
down in the mud at the red-board barn
down in the middle of froze one-o-three
spinning on her peg like a russian stooge
Turn One-One on The Shen
lowside in the orange dust
with a push-start from Roger and some shook-off rust
Turn One on The Main
lowdown lowside on the crack in the ass
Banjo bolts all deranged
push her off the sidestand
push her down the well
Erica’s down her drinking hell
pissing herself with a shot in her hand
she got a S painted on her side
speed n sport n suicide
shag n stomp n stretch n slide
slow down time, swell up space
aint no rat she wont race
speed n scrape n somersault
“goddammit boy, that was your fault”
“i wear a bandana truss and my panties smell o brake dust”
she got no sissy cat, she got no enviro pipes
she told me “i dont need no bacterial wipes”
she spits out the sheets of the acid rain
and shits out the air pollution
she flares out scads o get-away-gas
she turds out the nasty mogas scat
lift her head, say “shit on that”
overall, she give-a-damn
— our girl liked her drink by the quart
in turn number five, she said
“hold on lover … duck and cover”
she shook her tailfeather
i goosed her n she never slowed
she stood her hands-on-hip
she chucked me down the road
and I let my backbone slip.