Marching with Saints
by Patrick Carrington
First appeared in Slow Trains
Mother, come away from your tomatoes
and blues for once, outside
the chicken wire. Say goodbye.
You always loved your scarecrows like sons,
and your sons only when the Bushmills
and quarter notes dribbling off your chin
made you sad enough to see the house
was growing bigger. Last year's harvest
is still in the pantry, screwed tight.
Like my brothers, I take a jar of both
of your sauces for the road. And when
I find that special whore who makes me
hungry, high-stepping in parade
with feathers redder than your best Jerseys,
I'll pour your garden on her chest, eat
dinner off her tits. She'll cry on cue,
and we'll do shots of Irish
and let Bourbon Street lay us
dizzy on the floor with saxophones
and sleep. It'll feel just like home.
Patrick Carrington is the poetry editor at Mannequin Envy. His manuscript Thirst recently won Codhill Press's 2006 Poetry Chapbook Award and is now available at www.codhill.com. He has poetry forthcoming in The Connecticut Review, The Potomac Review, Rattle, The Evansville Review, The New York Quarterly, and other journals. His new collection, Rise, Fall, and Acceptance (MSR Publishing, 2006), was released in December by Main St. Rag Press.