Aurora Magazine 2017

B. Farbo Raise and Bury Thee! O Honky Tonk Banshee! A Lament of the breathing sister.

In II & 1/2 Parts I.

I-10 at US One Nine One the wind kicks up the dirt to zero visibility and most certainly beyond there is The Lady of the House a Banana Combed Blue Eyed Banshee on the early morning shift trying not to jerk First Daughter bald headed while pulling her hair into tight braids. (White crosses! Half-Ton Roulette! Ahead!) Plum colored skies the same shade as the eye baggage. Cold pickup cabs, spending gas, running from the fool’s gold strike of daylight in the left side mirror. Cinnamon tortilla breakfast wrapped in a paper towel keeping the weeping melted Country Crock off of work britches. Beer cans that asshole needed to clean out, a tool box slamming addled cowboy bebop rhythms, plus a radio... (I’ll be fine and dandy Lord it’s like a hard Candy Christmas) At eighteen dad dropped dead, twenty married a year, twenty-two now First Daughter, wondering how at twenty-four they became so old with five acres, plus well, and a single wide. Twenty-six third last name, twelve acres and a double wide, twenty-nine Second Daughter. Job, different job, new job, old job, new jobs. (The Quiet Prevailed.)

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