Kentucky Relish Cannery Improvisation 01 29 04 Poem by Lee B. Mack

Rumor spreads a passion and bloom to relish
red bone honey to covet to marry the melon
of middle age the beauty of dark and light meat
and relishes; the side I like picking up pieces
of colorless spirit mellow spices for theater
at The Barns at Wolf Trap: New Orleans,
Kermit Ruffins, round Glen Echo Park promenade,
head lighted street glaze of rain the blues entertains,
the side I like is where I got’um
down MacArthur Boulevard into Foggy Bottom;
she shares the waning disappointment of missing
a visit to The Little People’s Place;
she relishes as seasonable her passions
filling the canneries with love’s preserves
the supernatural we share; the side I like
the theater prevue nostalgia of our satirical histories'
evolutionary ascent from watery homes that vent us
she is the Dogon Goddess scripted on skyrocket
stele over time zones, to planet oases, the side I like
she has her place in the matter without measure
she lives by the books portrayal of her wanton ways
in the world she is desperate to read of her
own character in the books of the kingdom,
summertime offbeat snap trips, the side I like
in the rain up MacArthur Boulevard
and the long roundtrips where we wrinkle
dressed in silk blended linen; the side I like

we generate electric static arcs; hot damned!
that crackles when we kiss wine and Irish Coffee wise
‘Bitches Brew’ pass Fairmount long gabardine
pants too, the side I like a joyful solitaire of open eye
lip kissing in a pine for seduction a histamine prom
warming surprise, the side I like fancy streams of
thought that stood by entry to music practice rooms,
passing through turnstile access doorways into
western salons playing through the embouchures;
the side I like fingering the cornet taps that resist
the flying fingers pull at elastic underwear
automobile window winds open blinds blown
wooden and plastic tambourines; the side I like
sweet cool liquid blow through an open hang of hair
sleeve length cotton gown flare minds wound and
bodies round into engaging human being;
her name a verb and a noun Mae’be Sudanese
pursed smiling rose caramel lips… kisses on a horn
to down sound reclining in an almost first chair
hands supporting posture assuming the form that
tapers into the side I like handrails loose and stairs
creaking, split-level to the recreation room of descent...
the motion light switches she sets the stage to play,
the side I like the unsuspected met and kept that way
when she relishes really relishes the spirit amused
gathers soul to the sound and praise.