Boy, Recollected

Grandmother in the summer kitchen's

lean-to breeze said, "Tow-head,

your cowlick sticks out like a wing,"

and off I rushed to the meadow

where a brown bossy ran her tongue

over limp grass after the saline

tang. I saw the pattern of shaped

blades like my hair but green

and ran on toward the bough-house

beside the stream, wind licking

across my brow and sweaty locks,

some friendly browser after

that childhood and human salt.

MANICURE

Coral nails on white formica,

Mother tapped to Patsy Cline.

The Motorola's golden speaker

wailed. I'd hide my soldiers

with bazookas in the oven.

Iced tea, pot roast, turnip greens

and yams. The wall clock kept

the beat. The daffodils wilted,

Mother flicked her Jesus fan,

with baby in the playpen, laughing,

then crying. Filter cigarette,

dash of Gilbey's gin, faintest

whisper of My Sin. An empty

plate at the end of the table

shone bright as any shrine.