three in the morning
two men in camouflage
drunk loud talk, stare at shotguns
their eyes shiny they drool
there are puddles at their feet
there are puddles on the counter
.
I walk over and unfortunately have to greet them
even though glass case guns are invisible after midnight
they undress the case, wet dreams and grunts
their beery cigarette wheeze annoys me
their eyes reach the seventy-four-dollar shotgun simultaneously
the one guy asks the other What’s a seventy-four-dollar shotgun for?
my opinion wasn’t asked for but I’m tired
with my best most hillbilly accent
I reply, Gettin’ drunk and killin’ your wife
Copyright 2019 Jason Baldinger. An earlier version of this poem appeared in The Studs Terkel Blues published by NightBallet Press.
I love Jason Baldinger’s work, but I wish he had left out the adjective “hillbilly”.
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Thanks, Mel. What does the word “hillbilly” do to the poem?
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