Back County Queen
E. R. Carlin
Electra allows conjugal time.
She delivers poke bale melody,
backdoor muddy, and mosquitoes
with amber necklaces. She
crowns me off. Halfway holler,
she drools about my hangnails,
cocklebur back in her throat.
No way can she yodel, always
gargling up, dead mother-tongue
Still she cackles: hay, hay, man,
I know you know my sister too.
She desires to rip it out, cockneyfy,
spooning accent; she takes hot iron,
starches each sock like an oven,
smolders each to feet, tells me
to heel, role over and play dead
on her daddy’s grave. Regal woman,
that’s no how staying power.