My grandfather was born on Frenchman

and hung his hopes on a barstool long before

despair sat on a curb behind the tavern.

The screen door was painted green and squeaked.

Crawfish on newsprint, boiled red with pop-eyes

burning black from cayenne, drew him there,

and cold Jax beer in brown bottles, with Satchmo

rupturing an old brown radio in the back room.

–excerpt from “Herstel’s” in Jumping Off the Train by Donna Pucciani (Orchard House Press, Washington 2007). First published in Freshwater.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s