The Ace O’Spades says I’m shackled
to Black & Decker perfection.
Even though I’m finally engaged again
I’m zippered in fine-toothed doubt.
I’m not overly dripping cautious.
No matter what, I’m still not ready
to plant the damn tulips.
So what if I’ve been fired from a cannon
in Betty Boop’s bed?
I don’t demand special attention
unless I’ve been overworked oil.
See, I’m just cowboy-hat middle-age bitter.
Teri quibbles when I sort out coyote motions
but Ace discloses I’ve jitterbugged into
this compression regression transmission,
that I’m known for crooning “Doona Loona”
over joints and valves
and downing gallons of lemonade estrangement.
Yet when I build a bonfire, sweetheart,
I’m not cool tunes made in the U.S.A.
Sometimes, in fact, it’s been dotted-
snake-stripe wallpaper torn from the trailer.
Poem copyright 2017 by Jnana Hodson.
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