As the number of my age
Rises by increments
regular as a plow horse
scratches furrow by furrow,
I look forward to the time
when Brenda and I
will soak in her hot tub
and drink strong drinks
among the stars.
In her voice,
the East Texas
will still subvert
the Arkansas,
Her tones,
(husky-sweet,
like Southern Comfort,
but only a little murky)
taking the time,
lingering in her mouth like earnest work,
Its presence palpable,
before it comes to me.