And my grandmother, plopped in her recliner
and next to her, her bible; my grandmother,
gentle dumpling of a woman in her eighties
who believed in the Lord, buttermilk biscuits
and crowder peas; my grandmother, velvet Jesus
tacked to the wall and looking down forgivingly
over her shoulder and her head bopping up
and down to Sheryl’s certified country licks
and all the while exclaiming Lord have mercy,
how that gal can sing; my grandmother, face
puffed into a radiance only the born again
can comprehend and for whom the Sheryl Crow
I mean, the smokin’ hot honey dressed in skin
tight black leather pants and matching jacket
and wielding her six-string and harmonica,
meant Mr. Sin and his sidekicks were for
the moment muzzled, her ears closed to them,
pure exultation the coin of her small realm.
George Drew’s many books include Drumming Armageddon (Madville, 2020).
Copyright 2020 George Drew
Yes, Sheryl gets even the old folks rockin’… loved the poem!
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Don’t worry, George — Mr. Sin has made a big comeback!
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hahahaha
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