The grass is never greener than when you're deepest in debt--
How is that? Tin cup on the countertop; breadcrumbs
On the floor. This house sits on this corner lot like..., what?
Some bricks and a few windows?
O, let's fire it up, Honey; let's our howl
Down--let's our broken shimmer shine!
It's summer and it's night.
There's a breeze in the tin palm, a breeze in the live oak.
The Spanish moss is swaying like a worry-woman, her cloudy light
shining like an empty street.
This chip-brick, broke-backed rat house--
This weed garden seething all its greens--
I'm so poor, my stars shine on Jesus. My blood erupts.
Are you kidding me--? Who's going to follow a trail of crabber's
mud
To my door?
- Jay Hopler
