the honky tonk blues bar

We hear from here the water just

under the music, a white-lipped roar

glass under gaslights, rolled-up sleeves

a man’s tending in the corner over

something hard in the cups

a wake, no, we’re alive, we snap

planks, thumbs stubbed against the levy

Dance, I ask, dance—dance with me

I take lapels into my own hands,

dole salt winks on my man’s shoal

trade corn-liquor breath and hang

contra-swing, and when you keel

over and beat heels to the floor,

and feel wood flat under your cheek,

hear under pilings pure pure river