Bobbing along the water, lightning bugs bedazzle the bayou
and
entice each other, frogs, and humans alike.
So, when you finally pull into the carport
Causing the flood light to distract from the
lightbulb show,
I am reasonably annoyed.
It is insect ass that I want to see–
Not yours.
You are as welcomed here as an elbow to the ribs.

Without you, there is no tremor.
I don’t wonder who I should be
to accommodate for your many moods.
To be honest, I don’t know why I tremor.
Here, you are as out of place as an elk.
You demand firm land to trample, and like swamp
I yield beneath the weight of you.
Not all things that swim belong in these waters.

I am one with the alligators, snakes, and bears.
The spirits of my ancestors ride these waters,
And they taught me to top the beets and sprinkle the cinnamon to hide the signs of deeper roots,
And they they taught me what to keep next to the bucket of fishing bait,
And what to say over the jambalaya pot
That will make you stay gone this time.

So keep the truck running.
Leave your jacket on.
You won’t be staying here for long.