The Places Where the Line Blurred – Gayle Bell

Gayle Bell

Rev. Jimmie Lee’s chapel
at the West End is packed
Urban sprawl cling to the DART’s
steel belted steel and my shoes
Rev. has Kings countenance
in a manor poor breeding

Bro. Man sits only moving his eyes
turfing the Right Rev
like denizens of a veldt
In spite of his pose
he was heard muttering
Amen Brother

Sometimes the lines merge
Can’t blame us if our best Friday nights
feels just as good as getting happy
Divinations and Ecstasy release similar hormones
on the way to redemption

I wandered my valley
smelling of Southern Comfort, weed,
depositing that and Hardeman’s Bar-B-Que
on Ellum Thicket alleys toward home
To cigarette fogs, washed down
with gottheshakes coffee at AA
Flirting with the stud sporting a d.a.
and tattoos from Aunt Lou’s

Anne LaFey knows
down the linen roads we glide
Highland Park’s pretty low where she sits
reared amid stalks of pain and madness
illusions of safety

Smarter minds have deduced
this town has worn out its welcome
Big Daddy got out in the 30s
bailed out by Uncle Jim and Uncle Son
when the Klan in guise of Ellis County sheriffs
inquired about his hiyella whereabouts

I’ll probably stay here and watch me and
Jimmie Lee get wrinkled
a few lines cross Jim’s face
will look good on him

Poets and Preachers
keep the same hours
up before the Devil
down before the Lord

This marble
looks big from my hometown
When I have time
I’ll ask JC for some answers

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One Comment

  1. Hey, Gayle, love the poem! I’ve been known to deposit a little BBQ in the thicket back in the day, too.

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