Ariana shrugged facing Josh’s mocking clap
the stringy harmonica rang acrobatically on the streetlights.
He handed her a firebomb,
eyes sharp as vinegar.
They ran across the hot asphalt,
watching the brass kite rise.
Both caught in the whirlpool of the maze,
they guided the trumpet,
mandolin filling the air, sinking into the smokehouse.
Her jacket flared, body pitching like a haystack, cracked like an explosion.
Cigar smoke swindled
trembling hands at the phone’s text crime. Tightened waist, ribs vacant
Her throat rasped open,
gasping. Stomps flew, trumpets lit,
feathers popped, and breath spilled like bone in the dusk.
Ariana shrugged facing Josh’s mocking clap
the stringy harmonica rang acrobatically on the streetlights.
He handed her a firebomb,
eyes sharp as vinegar.
They ran across the hot asphalt,
watching the brass kite rise.
Both caught in the whirlpool of the maze,
they guided the trumpet,
mandolin filling the air, sinking into the smokehouse.
Her jacket flared, body pitching like a haystack, cracked like an explosion.
Cigar smoke swindled
trembling hands at the phone’s text crime. Tightened waist, ribs vacant
Her throat rasped open,
gasping. Stomps flew, trumpets lit,
feathers popped, and breath spilled like bone in the dusk.
Jealous Jillian meets zealous Philip at Arby’s.
With ONE green eye she spies his double-order curly fries,
No FUN when his French dip starts to drip on her Barbies.
She cleans them off and leans close in to his plate
SNEAKING a meager handful while eager Phil tries
to confess for the FREAKING mess he’s made of their date.
She orders Smokehouse Brisket; he GETS a gravy/biscuit.
PLUS as a “to go” surprise, IT’S two apple pies.
THUS Phil walks Jill home. A goodnight kiss? will he risk it?
She told us stories.
I remember the
one were
she said that her
great grand father
started a smokehouse
business were
he cured pork and
sold beef and turkeys
in the city and at
resturants.
She spoke of a recipe
for cheery and almond
wine: distilled to be liquier.
She said the recipe was hidden in
the walls of
Sole Semete' in New Bristol.
She gave me the map and said she
belived their was silver and gold
in the chest full of valuables.
" Tresure of Baryon".
October come with its
shades of orange
September ends
Harvest moon
once again
Soon
Silence in the
Shushed
Smokehouse
Crackle of a hunters boot
Through the trees
Puffing and pumping
Mixed with clouds of hot air
A fawn and doe chase
The wind lighter
Hillsides shadowed
Red and brown
A gunshot
Echoed in cool grey skies
Burnt to the lungs
Sound of birds
leaving south
In time for tobacco
Dried Blood
I squint just right
And capture a memory almost forgotten
Jars of fruit and honey fresh from hives
Filling shelves in old smokehouse
Home-made butter and molasses
In her kitchen
Waiting to smother
Biscuits warming
On black cast iron wood-stove
Boxes of buttons
An old cameo
Split wood in corner
Old sleepy dog on porch
The house on the hill
Where Mom's Granny rocked
16Feb14
It was just an old smokehouse out near Gravel Switch
The boards are all tattered, the roofs at a pitch
But this tattered old smokehouse out near Gravel Switch
Is so full of memories, my heart starts to twitch
It was Grandpa’s old smokehouse down in Kentuck
Hollowed out underneath by an ancient woodchuck
Grandpa smoked hams that would make you mouth water
I count myself lucky to be his granddaughter
Grandma would use it to house her big freezer
She said it’s for Grandpa (she said the old geezer)
As kids we would go there, I’ll admit I was smitten
For under the smokehouse I would find a young kitten
If you’re ever in Kentuck out near Gravel Switch
Just turn down the dirt road by the big gravel ditch
Though the smokehouse is abandoned – no hams are still hung
It is still full of memories from when I was young.
Mdailey 2/10/12
I wrote this for a friend when I saw a picture she posted of her old smokehouse.
For all who have been wondering
I'm from the hills of Tennessee
I was raised a country boy
And as hillbilly as can be
My bathroom was an outhouse
And I lived on an old dirt road
We had no running water
And splinters on our comode
My Grandpa was a moonshiner
And I've smoked a corncob pipe
I've done a lot of hunting
And even tried hunting snipe
We kept our food in a smokehouse
And even had a chicken coop
Sometimes I had to go out there
And clean up all their poop
We had a lot of livestock
So we processed our own meat
And yes, sometimes in the summer,
I'd run around in bare feet
My neighbors lived down the road a piece
With no street lights to light our way
I walked home by the moonlight
But I knew it would be okay
Anyway, that's my story
So I know the hillbilly way
When you have those mountain roots
Then somehow you never stray
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