Southern Fried Weirdness

By Jason L. Huskey

She carries her head as a lantern,
beam of Clorox eyes leading
her around the garage at night.
She's legless above the gravel,

gown matted about the wounds,
silver and brick and midnight
melding in the middle
of a summer storm.

They say the electricity charms the air.
Pulls spirits to this stage of ours,
this lonely encore
of final gasps.

She's looking for the old man's ax
that brought her here.
How the dull edge
severed the satin flesh.

Some dusks she comes to me
for a human hand to guide,
her purple mouth a tremor
of pleas, pleas, please.

We touch on the moonless nights,
cold fingers clenched,
eyes nervous to meet,
as my wife sleeps inside.

The imprint of blood
is warm in the winter,
like the breath through lips
that beg and beg and beg.

Jason L. Huskey's work has appeared in Keyhole Magazine, nimble, and Thieves Jargon, and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize.  Links to his work can be found at:  http://jasonhuskey.blogspot.com.  He lives in Virginia.

Copyright © 2009, Jason L. Huskey