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Moonshine
Drunken laughter escapes Behind the fence woven With honeysuckle, up to where I stand. Daddy’s running-buddy, Carson, is beside him. In the time It takes to turn & watch a woman Tiptoe & pull a sheer blouse off The clothesline, to see her sun-lit Dress ride up peasant legs Like the last image of mercy, three Are drinking from the Mason jar. That’s the oak we planted The day before I left town, As if father & son Needed staking down to earth. If anything could now plumb Distance, that tree comes close, Recounting lost friends As they turn into mist. The woman stands in a kitchen Folding a man’s trousers— Her chin tucked to hold The cuffs straight. I’m lonely as those storytellers In my father’s backyard I shall join soon. Alone As they are, tilting back heads To let the burning ease down. The names of women melt In their mouths like hot mints, As if we didn’t know Old Man Pagget’s Stoopdown is doctored with Slivers of Red Devil Lye.