Your lips look dry, ma’am.
How ‘bout a drink upon the
Lord’s pale rubies?

Only thing touches
my lips is beeswax,
her lips and her whiskey.

Well now, we’ll just
have to see about that.
Ain’t nothin’ between us
but train track that ain’t made
it out this far yet. It’s about ten
miles out and a year comin’. Ain’t
nowhere to run, no train to take, ladies.
This ain’t the Lord’s day, so we’re gonna
do it our way. A good bottle of whiskey and
a woman.

Somewhere in Natchez,
the church bells are ringing.
Missionaries of Cherokee Nation
pray for your soul you son-of-a-bitch!
Lord have mercy!

Well lady preacher,
Natchez, Mississippi an’
Deadwood are a long ways
away from each other.

I’ll kill you, you son-of-a-bitch!
You stick me in front of her, I’ll be
wanted dead or alive.

Copyright 2.8.2010 Ms. Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist