When Sugar Momma Talks

If ever there was a slow
sultry train sensually
bending soul minors,
chugging upon the spine,
taking it’s riders
from a flooding delta
to alpine woods
where goose bumps
rise, drown, and resurrect
in the forget
of a sexy minute.

Teased just right with soft air
sucked in tight and lazy
on the curl of a tongue,
thin brass wisps
resonate in twisting hips;
pendulum swings,
while a blues man sings;

“She’s a gypsy with a mojo;
honey lips steal good men away
she’s a gypsy with a mojo;
honey lips steel good men away

A fool calls her Pandora
I don’t call her any day.”

Guitar or harp
continues talking where
the vocals stop.
Gypsy vapor sinks
beneath rind; honey
tastes like a
thousand tingles
moving from
soft kisses
between skin and skull,
to restless air
that follows bones –
makes them shake.

We want more
when we hear the sputter
of a turn on the five.
The crawling out
of dark pipes begins,
through steel grates,
along ditches, ally walls
trying to slide in the creep
of a hot blue measure
for another
twelve bars that may
forever hang,
perpetually arousing,
suspended on the one.

Then the sugar momma
may finally speak
and tell us where she gets
her sugar from.

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20 responses

      • Never knew you Gigged Jennifer – Vocals or instrument?

        Regarding me being smarter – Stop! I am a HS drop out. I have made it to where I am because my callused white knuckles still have meat left on em!;) A survivor with enough smarts to know how to swim to shore, build a hut, glean food, and fashion messages to float out to sea:) I am glad you think I am smart though, makes me feel a bit warm inside,

  1. What a fantastic blues poem! I love the image of “soft kisses / moving between skin and skull.” And that ending–such a terrific twist! The poem re-creates SO well the experience of hearing a blues song well played.

    • Thank you so much for the feedback Jennifer. I am grateful for your words and the share of your perspective. I really enjoyed the process of writing this one, there was a lot of free flowing expression.

      P.S. ever here of the College Press in Claremont Village?

  2. Pingback: Reflections on NaPoWriMo « Jennifer Bullis

  3. *I linger…
    *Still…
    *On “a slow
    *Sultry train sensually
    *Bending soul minors…
    *To alpine woods
    *Where goosebumps
    *Rise, drown, and resurrect…
    *Trying to slide in the creep
    *Of a hot blue measure
    *For another
    *Twelve bars that may
    *Forever hang
    *Perpetually…
    *Suspended on the one…

    *Sugar momma
    *May finally speak
    *And tell us where she gets
    *Her sugar from.”

    *Reno,
    *I hear …
    *Music!*
    <3(:

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