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.