When the moon licks the magnolias
lookin' for dew on a tar-baby night,
air hangs like a lead cape, and clothes
are wet mops, wait'in to be wrung.
Too early for bed,too late for ambition,
it's an evenin' of ice tea, talk about
the new neighbors, and how snappy
Grandma looked at church.
I dunno, but this Southern heat
is wearin' me down-maybe I'll find work
up North where it's cool- yep, thinkin'
I may just do that.

What? No mama, I ain't goin' no place-
just thinkin' mama-just thinkin'.

02/08/2002

Posted on 02/08/2002
Copyright © 2026 Jane E Pearce