{"id":371,"date":"2023-01-11T21:55:04","date_gmt":"2023-01-11T21:55:04","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/alteritas.net\/entwistedtongues\/?page_id=371"},"modified":"2026-08-05T08:35:14","modified_gmt":"2026-08-05T15:35:14","slug":"skinny-dipping-with-alligators","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/alteritas.net\/entwistedtongues\/","title":{"rendered":"Skinny-Dippin’ with Alligators: a Satire in Couplets"},"content":{"rendered":"

For (and with) my cousin Red Dog\u00a0<\/em><\/span>
\nand in memory of Johnny, my Dad<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

“Poetry, schmoetry,\u201d the poet Richard Wilbur
\nquotes one of [his fellow WW2 recruits’] saying,\u00a0though he adds
\n<\/span><\/em><\/span>that he\u00a0had “warm and amusing\u00a0relationships with<\/span>
\nalmost everyone, partly because,<\/span>
\nmostly country Texans,\u00a0they were enjoyers<\/span>
\nof words \u2014 good storytellers\u00a0and inventive cussers\u201d<\/span>.<\/span><\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

1 \u2013 Subject to the Urge<\/i><\/b><\/p>\n

Virgil and me set off to Sparks City.
\nAin’t much of one, just an itty-bitty <\/span>
\nbump on the road. The pit-stops in between
\nalso leave much to be desired. You’ve seen
\n<\/span>them, most you can say is you’ve been
\n<\/span>there. Not remotely a sightseeing spin
\n<\/span>through some piney woods, as I explained
\nto the two fat cats who’d had the hare-brained
\nidea of joining our expedition.
\n<\/span>They had bankrolled our little operation
\nclaimed that lent the inalienable right
\nto accompany us. Try as I might
\nI could not dissuade them from it.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0<\/span>Now Virg,
\n<\/span>since his tender youth subject to the Urge
\nand not as vestal as his name implies,
\nwas practiced, by hook or crook or simple lies,
\nat relieving others of the sorry state
\n<\/span>of chastity, himself as pretty-boy bait.
\nSo he had a number of things that clouded
\nhis mind, which, unless too much crowded
\nin or jumped the queue, worked fine, though he ran
\ninto trouble when issues grew to more than
\ntwo.
\n<\/span>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 The buds, no longer hibernating,
\ntired of dreary hivernal waiting,
\nwere burstin’ through their waxy jackets.
\nGlorious Spring with its wafting packets
\nof aroma was here! As always with life,
\n<\/span>beneficent distractions were rife.
\nLike Indian paintbrushes suddenly unclad,
\nthe ladies, even those who don’t gad
\nabout, were doing their damndest to show well.
\nSuch adversity can drive a man to quell
\nhis thoughts with hard liquor, keeping them few
\n<\/span>and in neat manageable rows, in lieu
\nof \u00a0scattered, stray and ubiquitous.
\nSo, wisely, I’d packed a ridiculous
\n<\/span>number of pint hip flasks of Jim Beam,
\n<\/span>plus extra baggies of the weed our scheme
\n<\/span>was to turn a profit on. We hid the blocks
\nof shit in the pickup truck’s locked tool box.<\/p>\n

I’ll tell you why we took the back route
\nwe did. Our Partners in crime were not about
\nto let us abscond, so among the pretexts
\nthey came up with was to see some rednecks
\nin the raw. You’d’a thunk a mirror would-a
\nsufficed, but that takes us into the could-a
\n<\/span>beens. So I slammed it to the springs over miles
\n<\/span>of broken asphalt, past ramshackle piles
\nof rundown shacks in the woods. Got somewhere
\n<\/span>you could damn well do what you please. I swear
\nthe whole place was run by rednecks.\u00a0But two
\n<\/span>rooms left, so we had to make do
\nin the Poker House Motel \u00a0(hardy-har!),
\na name not at all strange or bizarre
\n<\/span>since there was catty corner a strip club.
\n<\/span>I wanted a drink and to get some grub,
\nVirg, to see hisself ladies au naturel<\/em>.
\nThe Partners sharing his taste, I fell
\ninto line. Besides, it was purty hot.
\nSo we toked up, crossed the parking lot
\nand plunged gratefully into a chill blast
\nof A\/C \u00a0<\/span>Inside was the usual cast
\nof near nudes sitting in phosphorescent <\/span>
\nlight, waiting impatiently for a gent,
\nnonchalantly flicking off ashes
\ninto the dark, batting fake eyelashes
\n<\/span>at any male near. T<\/span>he main event was on
\nthe floor, where two ol’ boys, cuesticks drawn
\nwhat looked like menacin’ly, were in noisy
\ndisputation. Y’all know how bad boys be.
\nBoth suffered noticeably from lack of blood
\nin their alcohol streams, arguing over w<\/span>ho would stud
\nthat dirty blond standing there in the corner
\nwatching the game like a mourner
\nat her own funeral? “Dirty” here refers
\nto the color of her hair. Bear that in mind, voyeurs!<\/p>\n

Paid to ward off untoward, uncompensated
\nattention toward the ladies, the bouncer hated
\nbrawls. He was at first alarmed but then relieved
\nwhen one ol’ boy, apparently the one aggrieved,
\ninvited the other to step outside alone,
\njurisdiction different from the bouncer’s own.
\nThe Partners couldn’t hide their delight
\nat the prospect of a bloody fight,
\nthey headed out to take a peak.
\n<\/span>Always leery of stray gunshot I stayed
\n<\/span>inside. Virg, hopin’ to get good and laid,
\nhad anyways not gotten past the wenches,
\narrested by whatever potentially quenches
\nhis lust.
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0<\/span>That was some powerful shit
\n<\/span>we had. I got lost in the thick of it,
\ncaught up in what was flickering
\n<\/span>on the TV screen, and then considering
\nthe pithy words of a HubCap Brown
\n<\/span>tune on the jukebox, the one giving the low-down<\/span>
\non Homer, his brother. At first didn’t notice Virg<\/span>
\nwas gone. No doubt jess pursuing his urge,<\/span>
\nI thought when I did. But soon the ol’ boys<\/span>
\ncame back with the Partners, making noise<\/span>
\nlike good business friends just wrapping<\/span>
\nup a deal, buddy-buddy back-slapping,\u00a0 \u00a0 <\/span><\/span>
\nThe female catalyst of what was not<\/span>
\na \u00a0brawl but a \u00a0bargain she was bought<\/span>
\nand sold in was also miissin’ in action.
\n<\/span>Could only guess the gist of that transaction.<\/span><\/p>\n

We closed the place down, me the last one out.
\nThe door to our room was locked: Virg no doubt
\nwas in there and he had the key. I had half
\na mind to pound away. Good for a laugh.
\nBut I got it that more than a mere roll
\n<\/span>in the hay, something beyond control,
\nwas going on. I stumbled to the truck,
\nfell hard asleep in the cab.
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u2014 J<\/i>ohnny! Fuck!<\/i>
\n<\/span>First sounds I heard at dawn<\/span>. <\/i>Virg was shaking
\n<\/span>my shoulder, hand cupped on my mouth, waking
\nme up. Behind him the dirty blond who, closer-
\nup, had a lazy left eye. Anyone who saw her
\nwould allow she was not much of a looker,
\nnot at least a brazen big-boobed hooker.
\nBut every bodily part was brand spanking new,
\nwaiting to be wore plumb out. Bea, as in bumble,
\nwas her name, Beatrice in less humble
\nguise.
\n<\/span>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u2014 <\/span>Johnny, we gotta get outa here<\/i>,
\nwhispered with more than a trace of fear.
\nHis shirt was inside out, like he’d pulled clothes on
\nin \u00a0a mighty hurry. White knight Virg had chosen
\nBeatrice as his damsel in distress,
\ndragging us both into what became a mess,
\nas y’all’ll shortly hear. She’d at least got dressed.
\n<\/span>rght, with a white halter covering her pert breasts
\nand worn-out jeans, from which I thought to avert
\n<\/span>my eyes. This Bea was not trying to flirt.
\nShe’d had some problems at home, not hard
\n<\/span>to figure what they were. She’d hit the road,
\nwhich had hit back. She was now in the charge<\/span>
\nof those ol’ boys, who had some kind of at-large
\n<\/span>job for her further on–an offer she had no way
\npolitely to decline. We all try to run away,
\nsometimes too soon. Once you start to run
\nit’s powerful hard to stop. Now she needed someone
\n<\/span>to elope with. Why not Virg. But the Chevy
\nwas mine. I had those keys, now jangling heavy
\nin my pants.\u00a0 \u2014 <\/span>Hold your horses, Virg. Forget
\n<\/span>about them pricks. Worse would be those dead set<\/em>
\non tracking us down, if we vamoose
\n<\/span>With the shit\u2014 our Partners. There’ll be no truce.<\/em><\/p>\n

Seems like Bea\u2019d got him in the sack, easy enough
\nto do, then turned on the sweet sob stuff.
\nShe was, so Virg learned, in dire straits.
\nthe ol’ boy Pimps sold<\/i> her t’our associates,
\n<\/span>though Virg’d \u00a0had been picked for the first test drive.
\nShe musta used any trick she could contrive,
\nthen turned on the charm. Like lovers do
\non more than one-night stands, she breezed through
\nher story how she liked it told. A whole passel
\nof folks were hot on her tail, each a hassle
\ndifferent from the other: father,
\n<\/span>brother, the Law. The twisted plot got rather
\n<\/span>fuzzy but the drift was that Bea had a friend
\nin Sparks she trusted who would take her in.<\/p>\n

This Bea had sump\u2019un drew me to her side,
\nthough a voice warned me, stay clear-eyed:
\nVirg might be a door for me to hold open
\n<\/span>for just the while she barged through. Unspoken
\nwas that the damn\u2019d thing would then slam shut
\n<\/span>for good.
\n<\/span>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0<\/span>We all know that feeling in our gut.
\nI usta could fall in love, took the tumble
\nmany times, saw so many dreams crumble
\nthat I get nervous going up where I might slip.
\nWho am I to say? Someone wants to skinny-dip
\nwith alligators, that’s their personal choice.
\nJess \u00a0them listening to their inner voice.
\nLike Virg did, Virg who was my bro.
\nSo he was right, we had to go, and go
\nquick. I put the pick-up in neutral gear,
\n<\/span>the door open so’s I could hop in once clear.
\nWe pushed her cross the empty parking lot,
\nclambered in, coasted out of earshot.
\n<\/span>I hit the switch. Thus began our odyssey,
\nfor which I offer no apology.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

2 – Moon Woman<\/i><\/b>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

We high-tailed it like bats out-a hell.
\nBurma shave signs, which Virg liked to spell
\nout one by one, flashing by so quick
\n<\/span>he couldn’t keep up. He got a kick
\nreading these road signs \u2014 ‘ bout the only thing
\nVirg did read. Loving rhymes, he’d sing
\nlines like: A man, a miss, a car, a curve
\n<\/i>He kissed the miss, and missed the curve<\/i>.
\nOr: He saw the train, tried to duck it,
\n<\/i>First kicked the gas, and then the bucket.
\n<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

Despite that advice, I kept it floorboarded,
\n<\/span>I didn’t look back, \u2018specially when Bea accorded
\nher white knight some intimacy, the two
\nof them climbing over, as if on cue,
\ninto the cubby hole. Nor was I gonna
\nstop. Our dope, the aromatic marijuana
\nIn the toolbox, was exceptionally fine,
\nhydroponically-grown. Those swine,
\nthe Partners plus their new partners, the Pimps,
\nwere likely hot on our tail. Not a glimpse
\nof the buggers yet. But there would be,
\nbecause, besides the shit, we had taken Bea.<\/p>\n

I had a road map we\u2019d brung along, sought
\nout the least obvious path to some spot
\nwhere we could hole up, not some dead-end trap.
\n<\/span>found a road that dwindled right off the map.
\nWe weren\u2019t goin\u2019 anywhere on it, \u00a0just fast,
\nand there was nothin\u2019 nowhere. Breakfast
\nwas but a dream of food gnawing at my guts.
\nAsphalt soon gave out to gravel and ruts.
\n<\/span>A storm brew\u2019d up, the sky grew dark,
\n<\/span>then split in half. I pulled over to park
\nand wait out a deluge the likes a-which
\n<\/span>I never seen. Once Virg had had his itch
\nscratched, him and Bea crawled back up front. Rain
\npoured down, fogging up the windshield pane.
\nA Texas turd-floater, enough to strangle
\n<\/span>frogs! But suddenly my nerves went all a-jangle
\n<\/span>cause Bea was sittin\u2019 \u00a0between us, her flesh
\n<\/span>brushing up like accident\u2019ly, moist and fresh
\ngainst my shoulder. She smelled mighty good.<\/p>\n

Virg had a beat-up old eight-track he would
\n<\/span>play HubCap Brown\u2019s \u00a0I\u2019d Go to Jail for You<\/em>
\non, though I begged him pretty please not to.
\nHe got it out of the glove compartment, where
\nhe\u2019d moved the gun, the sight of which didn’t scare
\nBea at all. He slid it in, then made up
\nhis own mournful words to the tune, playin’ up
\nto Bea, singin\u2019 at her, l’ll shut my eyes<\/em>
\nWhen I get there, thinking of your … uh … thighs.
\n<\/em>Not HubCap\u2019s words, but Virg had done his time,
\n<\/span>knew that in the pen, whatever your crime,
\nwhenever they can, they do it to you.
\nUp to you to figure out how to do
\nit back again to them. Bea wasn’t quite jail
\n<\/span>bait, plenty old enough to act female,
\njust enough to do so legally. <\/span>Even
\nout here in the sticks, folks don’t believe in
\npoaching on the young \u2014 lessun you\u2019re related.<\/span><\/p>\n

After a while the sky cleared, the storm abatted.
\nWe drove till we got to a broken-down gate
\n<\/span>and, a piece behind, a trailer, whose weight
\nsat on concrete blocks surrounded by shacks.
\nAll around was rusty junk and knick-knacks,
\nPlus, on the porch, a geezer, a crusty coot
\n<\/span>On a rocking chair, shabby and hirsute,
\nwith round spectacles and a scraggly beard.
\nHe looked us over real good, stood up, peered
\ninto the cab. One look at Bea, he had a hissy fit
\nthen uttered, like to long lost fam’ly, \u2014 Howdy, d\u2019jeet yet?<\/em>
\n<\/span>He sat us right down, went for a mess
\n<\/span>of bacon and beans, homemade bread and, yes,
\n<\/span>a clay crock of the best, mellowest moonshine
\nserved up in Mason jars among the pine
\ntrees in his cluttered yard.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span>Homer, his name,
\n<\/span>didn’t think much of folks. Most folks thought the same
\nof \u00a0him. S’why he lived way out here, his best
\nfriends, pythons, kept in barrels, not jest
\n-ing. Them and the cat he’d let out to play
\nat night. \u00a0\u2014 She keeps the pole cats away.
\n<\/span>Personally, I sorta like their smell. She dudn\u2019t.
\n<\/span>She’s pretty picky, she don\u2019t like the scent<\/em>
\nof nobody but me.<\/em>
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0<\/span>Now humankind,
\n<\/span>when he had music to play, Homer didn’t mind.
\nCuz that\u2019s what music\u2019s for, to share. Whiskey,
\nweed too. Anything that makes us frisky.
\nBea herself didn\u2019t care much for hootch
\n<\/span>and preferred to our stuff what Homer had a patch
\n<\/span>of back in a plot hidden in the trees
\n<\/span>where the sun shined jess right. Trying to please,
\nwe offered Homer some of ours, but he balked.
\n\u2014 Affects me when I gotta play, I get blocked,<\/em>
\nNot like with Johnny Corn, which is my drug<\/em>
\nof choice.<\/em>\u00a0 Shootin’ the shit, we finished the jug,
\npolished off the beans with crusts of bread.
\nAnd without a thought to what might lie ahead
\n<\/span>we heard Homer on his ax strum a chord or two,
\nand sing his version of I\u2019d Go to Jail for You.<\/em>.<\/p>\n

When Homer had finished the song, Virg asked,
\n\u2014 I know your given name but what ‘s your last?<\/em>
\n\u2014 Brown, I go by Homer Brown, <\/i>Homer replied
\nthrough his unkempt beard.\u00a0<\/span>Virg’s eyes went wide:
\n\u2014Any relation to HubCap?<\/em> The old coot
\nstared off into empty space, stayed mute
\nfor a brief speli, as if brooding over something
\nhovering up on high.\u00a0 \u2014 <\/span>Lord, that man could sing.<\/em>
\nCan’t tell ‘xactly how, but we’re related<\/em>
\nfor sure. <\/em>\u00a0<\/span>Brothers? Cousins? Virg was elated
\nto meet anyone sharin’ the blood of Waldo
\n<\/span>HubCap Brown, even if he didn’t know
\nprecisely to the drop.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span>If me and Virg had been
\nthe Pimps (and had Virg not fallen in
\nla-ove with Bea), we might-a cut a deal,
\nHomer’s hankering for her out so real
\neven Bea could see. Now Virg and me are
\nbad enough boys, but not the worse by far.
\nYou know we was slinging dope from a stash
\nwe stole. Yet I won’t cross, even for cash,
\ncertain lines. Pimps are the scum of the earth,
\nleechin’ like the gov’nment on the worth
\nof honest folk.
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u2014 <\/span>I know you’re on the lam,<\/em>
\nHomer had said. If it helps you outa your jam.<\/em>
\nyou can hole up a while, stay in the shacks.<\/em>
\nThe snakes won’t bother you, you can relax.<\/em>
\nI’ll feed ’em real good and keep the cat in at night.<\/em>
\nShe won’t bug you either. She don’t bite<\/em>
\nhumans. Anyone on that road, you’ll hear<\/em>
\n’em in time to hide. Jess park your truck and gear<\/em>
\nyonder out of sight behind them pines.<\/em>
\nYawl can camp here long as you’re so inclined.<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

Now my Daddy<\/em> used to take me out to hunt
\nin the Piney Woods, where we’d confront
\nwild turkeys. Dad’d have a nip or few
\nof the bourbon of that name or some brew
\nfrom a can. Good ol’ time was had by all,
\nLike we had at Homer’s little bolthole,
\nwhere we thought it wise for a while to bide
\n<\/span>some time. \u00a0We had what was needed to tide
\nus over. Virg needed time of his own
\nto tame and train Bea. He had holt of a wishbone
\nhe hoped and prayed would break his way: shacking
\nup with her. \u00a0What was nerve-racking
\nwas, I seen her first, by rights, she belonged to me.<\/p>\n

Gotta fess up. Been makin\u2019 fun of Virg, how he
\nthinks things through so careful slow, item
\n<\/span>by item, till a flash ignites in him.
\nBut It was Virg whose lights went on, not mine.
\n\u2014 Dummer than the dickens to make a bee line<\/em>
\nfor Sparks City<\/em>, he warned. The Partners could
\n<\/span>ferret out our contact there. They knew the ‘hood
\nwas a seller’s market. To get their wish
\nthey’d jess wait us out. Easy as shooting fish.<\/p>\n

He’d been talking with Bea about all this.
\nShe found it funny he\u2019d stole her with a kiss
\nsame time we stole the damned dope. Or vice-
\nversa. Thing about her friends, they were nice
\nand reliable Indians who wouldn’t traffic
\n<\/span>with white folks, let alone pornographic
\n<\/span>scum like the Pimps?\u00a0 <\/span>Cordin\u2019 to Bea, they had
\n<\/span>a good eye for a deal, like everyone glad
\n<\/span>to roll smoke. They would<\/em> bargain with Bea, one
\nof their own. When they learned what the Pimps done
\n<\/span>to her, well, they’d \u00a0deal with them too.<\/p>\n

\u2014 Johnny, I seen her beautiful tat-too.<\/em>
\nShe part Choctaw, Coushatta or sump\u2019m.<\/em>
\nHe didn’t spare telling me it was on her rump.
\n“H – A – S – H – I\u00a0 \u00a0 <\/span>T – A – Y – I – K.”
\nHe spelled the letters out one by one, way
\n<\/span>he does. It\u2019s some Injun lingo, means Moon-<\/em>
\nWoman<\/em>. \u00a0Once we left Homer’s place \u2014 soon!\u2014
\n<\/span>she\u2019d call \u2019em up, find a home for our shit.
\nI didn\u2019t first buy that Bea was even a bit
\nnative, tatoo or not, her Granny full blood,
\nBut Indians do look like the rest of our brood.
\nProb’bly been a lot of peckers in their woodpile.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

To get away from Homer\u2019s place took a while.
\nYou know how it is. \u00a0We had moonshine, dope,
\neverything in that department to hope
\nfor. \u00a0Once we said we’d stay Homer made a run
\nto town for provisions, procured a ton
\nof taters, bringing to mind the tune
\nthat Virgil under his breath loved to croon
\nmangling the words of HubCap’s Mashed<\/em>
\nPotatoes and Gravy<\/em>, as usual unabashed
\nin so doing. \u2014\u00a0O, I usta chomp on meat<\/em>
\nback when I had teeth, now all I can eat<\/em>
\nIs taters and gravy. <\/em>I’ll spare you
\nthe rest. Couldn’t believe that Bea knew
\nhow to cook from scratch. To make porridge,
\n<\/span>she’d go into the woods for stuff to forage,
\nI dunno, mushrooms, things like mushrooms,
\nnettles, berries, stuff to serve as legumes
\nin something homemade. Whenever she could get
\nVirg satisfied, she’d even endeavor to pet
\nthe pythons, following them around, spying
\non what they did and didn’t do, also trying
\nto make friends with the cat. When she’d go cook,
\nbarefoot in the kitchen, it was worth a look.<\/p>\n

Homer liked his meat, though he cared which kind.
\nHe preferred his squirrel to birds, didn’t mind
\narmadillo, also liked things fishy. I learned
\nthat, like me, when a boy, he yearned
\nfor crawdad gumbo, victuals to be caught
\nby knowing how to tease them out
\nof the ditches from their holes behind
\nmud clump mounds with bacon bits on twine.
\n<\/span>But bat was Homer’s meat of choice. Cudn’t stand
\nto shoot ’em and they’re hard to catch by hand.
\nHe made do with nutria, a tasty swamp
\n<\/span>delight. It was pretty good the stew he whomped
\n<\/span>up with those water rats, though not as good as cow.
\nBetween the two of Bea and him, we had good chow.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I was high most the while, Virg, gone on Bea.
\nHomer and I got a teeny weeny bit testy,<\/span>
\nfrustrated\u2019s more the word. But I coaxed
\nhim into singing lots, playing along on his ax
\nmany of his favorites, especially.
\nAin\u2019t Got Much Living Left Inside of Me.<\/em><\/p>\n


\n3 – Ala-ga-zam, the Alligator Man<\/i><\/b><\/p>\n

First we had to find a phone booth, then dimes
\nto make it work. Bea had to try three times
\n<\/span>before she got through. No need for wiles.
\nShe talked direct to the Chief. Came back all smiles.
\nThe Indians were buying in. We’d rendez-vous
\nat a road show in Noosetown, they’d preview
\n<\/span>the goods, we’d fix a price.
\n<\/span>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0<\/span>I’d heard of Noose,
\na \u00a0town where everyone played fast and loose.
\nOnly way to bring some law and order
\nIn was to string up the scum and ordure
\none by one \u2014 talking about white ones too.
\nNowadays Noose was no longer the zoo
\nit’d been. It’d become a fine place to raise
\nbig families. How come Swamp Carnival stays
\nso long and comes twice t’a year. Young’uns
\ngot nothin’ else to do. Sure, it’s tons
\nof sport to frolic in the bayous with gators,
\nsnapping turtles, whatever the Creator’s
\nput swimmin’ in there, even cottonmouth water
\nmoccasins! \u2014 things you don’t want your daughter
\nor even son to play with. Swamp Carnival
\n<\/span>was good, clean family fun. Nothing carnal,
\nno kootch shows. Though I’d bet on this:
\na road show that don’t smell of puke and piss
\nian’t much fun either.
\n<\/span>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0<\/span>The Chief had said
\nto keep close to the Tomahawks and Head-
\nFeathers stand. They’d find us, cause they\u2019d know
\n<\/span>to \u00a0recognize Bea.\u00a0<\/span>We found their sideshow
\n<\/span>on the midway. First had to get past queasy
\n<\/span>rides and game booths there to lure easy
\nmarks like Virg, who stopped to throw enough
\nsoftballs at bottles to have won silly stuff
\n<\/span>for Bea. She got her choice of a prize
\non the top row. What came as a surprize:
\njess like a little girl, she chose a pink
\nteddy-bear. Made me stop and think.<\/p>\n

Ala-ga-zam, come see the Alligator-Man<\/em>,
\na carny barked out. See the Crawdad-Woo-Man,<\/em>
\nLovin\u2019 Werewolves, Amorous Pythons, Siamese
\n<\/span>Triplets!<\/em>
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0<\/span>Truth be told, don\u2019t go for all that sleaze.
\npresty-digitation, cutting ladies in half,
\npullin\u2019 things out-a hats \u2014 just makes me laugh.
\nBut that\u2019s where the Indians had set up shop.
\nWhen Swamp Carnival came to Noose they popped
\nover from the Rez, dressed up in buckskins
\nand head-dresses. Then’s when the fun begins,
\ncause with fanfare and panache they’d pick
\nvolunteers to show off this and that trick
\nwith tomahawks or bows and arrows.<\/p>\n

Real Indians dressed up to perform in shows
\nas if they were Injuns? That didn’t make no
\nbusiness sense. A cheaper way to go
\nthere had to be. But I’m not here to blame
\nanyone. \u00a0If you’re one by that or any name
\n<\/span>better to get paid to act out who you
\n<\/span>are, as opposed to<\/em> Workin\u2019 Hard at Who
\n<\/span>You Ain\u2019t \u2014 <\/em>in the words of maestro HubCap.\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 <\/span><\/p>\n

The Chief had suffered some kind of mishap,
\n<\/span>was short his right arm. Either he’d under-
\nestimated a gator’s reach or, I wondered,
\nhad something gone wrong with the throw
\nof a war axe. \u00a0Chief threw good southpaw, though
\ncouldn’t have been the left limb he started with.
\nA gator wud-a chomped that one off forthwith.<\/p>\n

We didn\u2019t get to watch the show much before
\nthey spotted Bea. Doffing the head-dress he wore
\none of them invited her up to applause.
\n<\/span>Seems Bea did this kind-a thing. After a pause
\nshe dropped a curtsey and bowed, went right
\nover to the target without showing the least fright.
\nRefusin the blindfold, she stared right back at
\nthe Chief, who’d donned a feathered black hat.
\nWith Bea smiling, not even a flinch, he spun
\ntomahawks at her, perfectly landing one
\nclose as a shave next to each of her cheeks.
\nThe last, to show off his avanced techniques,
\nhe threw over his shoulder with exaggerated ease,
\nputting it delicately between her knees.<\/p>\n

At this point I began to think I\u2019d had too
\nmuch to smoke. So I turned to Virg to
\nsee how he was takin\u2019 all this, love’s slave.
\nFortunately, there was a strong-looking brave
\nstanding between him and the stage stairs
\nBea’d been escorted up. But Virg was without cares,
\nsmiling like a goon at Bea, who was a real jewel.
\nWoman could do that could break any rule,
\ndo anything. Virg, you see, he really loved her.<\/p>\n

The Chief came down once the first act was over
\nto talk to me, not to Virg. He done right.
\nBea must-a tol’ him I was the white
\nboy he should deal with. I had the keys.
\nIt was my truck. The way that amputees
\n<\/span>do, he took my right hand in his left,
\nshook me warm greetings with a manly heft.
\n\u2014 Got the samples?<\/em> \u00a0he asked. \u2014 Shore do,<\/em><\/span>
\n<\/span>But right in front \u00a0of these Christian fam\u2019lies?<\/em>\u2014 \u00a0<\/span>Don’t chew
\n<\/span>worry<\/em>,” he replied. Rednecks can’t tell the diff’rence<\/em>
\n‘tween one smell and the next. They got no sense<\/em>
\nof odor.<\/em>
\n<\/span>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0<\/span>What he proposed was to try it
\nin their peace pipe. If they liked it, they’d buy it.
\n<\/span>Right up on stage during intermission!
\nFolks expect Indians to smoke. It’s an old tradition.
\nthey don’t expect them not to drink. Indians do
\nwhat they wanna. So he climbed up and drew
\na circle round Bea. \u00a0Out-a his pouch the Chief pulled a bone
\n<\/span>pipe which dangled feathers, same colors as Bea’s own
\nbeads and the head-dresses too. He thumbed
\n<\/span>a pinch of the shit into the bowl, then hummed
\na blessing. So I figured, don’t know their lingo.
\nHolding over the bowl what looked like a Zippo
\nhe lit up, took a toke, held it in for
\na good long while and exhaled before
\npassing the apparatus on around
\nthe circle. Everyone including Bea found
\nsome deep thought to reflect on. Solemn enough
\nthese Injuns, contemplating the stuff
\n<\/span>for its own pleasure and for its market worth.
\nSecond round they burst into hails of mirth
\nas one by one they each took a deep toke,
\nlost in a rapturous world of smoke.
\nA good sign for our business venture,
\nI thought, not knowing our adventure
\nhad just begun. Knew it was strong shit
\n<\/span>but had no previous idea how it
\naffected Indians, sensibilities
\ndifferent from ours, if only in degrees.<\/p>\n

Bea came down from the stage, tol\u2019 us deal done.
\nThey\u2019d cancel the last show, meet us in one
\n<\/span>hour at a clearing in the woods known
\nas Humma Ofi<\/i>. \u00a0Bea, who had grown
\nup playing there, said it meant Red Dog.
\nWhy? She didn’t know. Was jess some swampy bog.
\nWeren\u2019t no dogs, though the soil wuz laterite
\n<\/span>red. \u00a0Long as the buyers could check right<\/span>
\nthat the shit they were gettin’ was the same
\nshit they had on stage. Wasn’t runnin’ a con game,
\nso that was fair enough. I knew it was, had
\n<\/span>had plenty of it.
\n<\/span>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0<\/span>On our side, Virg was glad
\nto count the money, cause numbers come
\n<\/span>one after another in rows, easy to sum
\n’em up. Twenty grand!\u00a0 <\/span>You might think a lot
\n<\/span>for Indians to have on hand and trot out
\nall-a a-sudden. But these Indians’d been
\n<\/span>a long while in bid’ness. Sure they indulge in
\ndrink and smoke and other sins. Who dudn’t?
\nBut Injuns got lots going for them, wudn’t
\nyou say?
\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0<\/span>When we were finally shakin\u2019
\n<\/span>hands, the Chief\u2019s missin\u2019 one respectfully taken
\n<\/span>into account, jess then (I swear you not!)
\nfireworks started goin\u2019 off, almost out of earshot.
\nLast night of the traveling roadshow. Swamp
\n<\/span>Carnival was moving on to new stompin’
\ngounds. Bangs kept floatin\u2019 in seconds
\n<\/span>atter the eruptions of light. Virg reckons
\ndistance by counting out Mississippi’s, the way
\nhe does, so he informed us we wuz five miles away.
\nWe watched these blossoms of light flower,
\nbursting over the pines round our bower,
\n<\/span>Heard their faint booms, the streamers already ash.<\/p>\n

We found a fancy motel we now had the cash
\nfor, took a whole suit, ordered room service ice
\n<\/span>and whiskey, plus Coke for Bea. Worth the price.
\n<\/span>Food weren’t no good. We didn\u2019t care, all tired
\nout from our long day. So Virg and Bea retired
\nthrough the door to the other room. I tole Virg to \u00a0keep
\nthe stash bag, Made him proud. Then I fell asleep
\nIn front of the boob tube.<\/p>\n

4 – “The Road’s My Only Home”<\/i><\/b><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u2014 \u00a0<\/span>Shee-it, Johnny,<\/em>
\nFirst sound I heard, a curse but more like a plea.
\nIt was dawn. Virg was shaking my shoulder.
\n<\/span>\u2014 We got trouble big time. I reached to hold her<\/em>
\nbut she gone<\/em>. She took the cash<\/em>. He didn\u2019t go
\n<\/span>into detail but seems she’d put on quite a show
\nthat night, took him on a ride, using all her charms.
\nThey passed out in a tangle of legs and arms.
\nHe’d held her close, her body, not her soul,
\nmost of the night long, but not the whole.
\nSoon as he pried his eyes open, groping
\n<\/span>for her missing warmth \u2014 maybe he was hoping
\nto do it again \u2014 \u00a0all he got: a handful of sweet
\nnothing, jess a cool rumpled sheet.
\nGone too was the stash bag which held the loot,
\n<\/span>Took him a while, lyin\u2019 there, to compute.\u00a0 \u00a0 <\/span><\/p>\n

Bea had taken not just Virg for a ride
\nbut me too. \u00a0In my mind\u2019s eye I saw her outside,
\nstash bag hanging across her comely frame.
\nFirst I thought she might be sole to blame
\nmight still be out there trying to hitch,
\na ride with the next guy she’d bewitch.
\nBut someone musta been in cahoots with this thief,
\nPartners? Pimps? Most likely her cousin, the Chief.
\nWe weren’t gonna go to Sparks to find out.
\n<\/span>Better sometimes than dying to live with doubt.<\/p>\n

Virg didn\u2019t care ’bout the money or the weed.
\n<\/span>all that mattered for him was that Bea’d
\n<\/span>left him. Crippled sick with grief and sorrow,
\nhe sang made-up words for tunes he’d borrow
\nfrom HubCap, repeating like a broke record \u2014
\n<\/span>Hell, A whole broke jukebox! \u2014 \u00a0Lord
\nknows how many errant versions of
\nof HubCap’s best hits: Just Testing My Love,<\/em>
\n<\/span>Wherever I Look All I See Is You,<\/em> plus
\n<\/span>another fav, Why You Makin’ All This Fuss.<\/em>
\n<\/span>Born into heartbreak, heartbreak brings us song.
\nThose who can\u2019t sing for shit jess mumble along,
\nbunglin\u2019 the words, like Virg does. \u00a0Don\u2019t matter.
\nLyrics of love lost are pitter-patter
\nwe know by heart, who’ve all been compelled
\nto lose what we want and, too briefly, held.
\nThe rest is jess so much yakety-yak
\nVirg knew, we know, they never come back.
\nSo the only life left to Virg and me,
\n<\/span>was running the road before us. And it’s easy
\nto lose the way when you cross a zone
\n<\/span>of hovels someone else calls their own.<\/p>\n

I was riding shotgun, Virg at the wheel.
\nHerds of clouds stampeeded across a surreal
\npurple sky, squalls driven by gales of wind.
\nGripped hard to the naugahyde-wrapped rim.
\nVirg’s knuckles turned white as he fought
\n<\/span>against the gusts, the big storm’s onslaught.
\n<\/span>Hail piled up in slush on the cracked asphalt.
\n<\/span>Virg turned and said, Screwed up Bad. My fault,<\/em>
\nJohnny, <\/em>alludin\u2019 to HubCap, but that’s allowed.<\/p>\n

Then at that very moment, things got real loud.
\nA twister crossed the road a football field
\n<\/span>ahead. Through the hail pelting the windshield
\nwe saw it turning into junk what there
\n<\/span>was before, tossing around in the air
\nLord knows what-all. I saw the makings
\n<\/span>of a house whirl by, human undertakings
\nun-made, dish-pans, an ironing board, a closet
\nwihout clothes. I swan a BBQ pit
\n<\/span>flew by. The Chevy rattled and shook but she
\nstuck to the ground.
\n<\/span>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0<\/span>Then, suddenly, Virg tossed me
\nthe keys, leaping down from the cab, heading
\noff in the direction destruction was spreading,
\nsingle-mindedly striding away, a white knight
\nadvancing into a strange new twilight.
\n<\/span><\/p>\n

So I rev\u2019ed her up, peeled out. Where I go
\n<\/span>now or will, there’s no way I can know.
\nIn HubCap’s words, since I’m forced to roam
\n<\/span>\u2014 Please sing along! \u2014 The Road ‘s My Only Home.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

For (and with) my cousin Red Dog\u00a0 and in memory of Johnny, my Dad “Poetry, schmoetry,\u201d the poet Richard Wilbur quotes one of [his fellow WW2 recruits’] saying,\u00a0though he adds that he\u00a0had “warm and amusing\u00a0relationships with almost everyone, partly because, mostly country Texans,\u00a0they were enjoyers of words \u2014 good storytellers\u00a0and inventive cussers\u201d.   1 \u2013 … <\/p>\n

Continue reading “Skinny-Dippin’ with Alligators: a Satire in Couplets”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-371","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/alteritas.net\/entwistedtongues\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/371","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/alteritas.net\/entwistedtongues\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/alteritas.net\/entwistedtongues\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/alteritas.net\/entwistedtongues\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/alteritas.net\/entwistedtongues\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=371"}],"version-history":[{"count":138,"href":"https:\/\/alteritas.net\/entwistedtongues\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/371\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":578,"href":"https:\/\/alteritas.net\/entwistedtongues\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/371\/revisions\/578"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/alteritas.net\/entwistedtongues\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=371"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}