Things I Miss About Being White Trash
The men are full of passion and ignorance
Like fireflies and bulls and vicious dogs
With wet pink tongues and eager, violent dispositions
Muscled and deliciously out of control
Like soul surfing on a raw white sea
Every time I think about going back
Losing the veneer of my career in the middle class
Like a cheap nightie soaked in beer and sweat
You know we never could afford air conditioning
I can taste those days like sweat on my lip
If I could scrape the ache of my itch
With their dirty nails and rough hands
And mouths full of gruff courses in love
Hot, squeezing, grabbing your need by touch
Feeling full and emptied and crushed like a beer can
October 28, 1998
