Raising a Humid Flag

Enough women over thirty are at Redbones

for the smell of Dixie Peach to translate the air.

I drink when I'm there because you must have

some transparency in this life and you can't see

through the glass till it's empty.

Of course I get next to men with broad feet

and bull nostrils to ward off isolation.

You go to Redbones after you've been

everywhere else and can see the rainbow

as fraud, a colorful frown.

The best part is after midnight

when the crowd at its thickest raises

a humid flag and hotcombed hair reverts

to nappy origins. I go to Redbones

to put an end to denial.

Dixie Peach is a heavy pomade like

canned-ham gelatin. As it drips

down foreheads and necks, it's like tallow

dripping down candles in sacred places.