Siren of the Bayou

Siren of the Bayou

My bestest dungaree overalls be,

humble compared to she

 

Platinum blonde dreads with wisps

of silver and light brown highlights

Vitiligo skin that mimics cattle

Patwa sounds like magic as it prances off her tongue

 

despite leaving the sea

she still whips up good eats

Jumbo fried shrimp soaked in dirt

Swampy Jambalaya, Gunky gumbo, Cajun spiced electric eel algae

I barely believe its all only for me

Queen of the aquatic hill, In the bayou she be free

She been told her whole life, not to care for the bottom feeders and the flower eaters

Crawfish and locusts be her bestest friends nowadays

 

Even beneath her sludge gown and muddy makeup

I still see relics of her beauty

even my Sunday suede,

and wife’s naughty midnight satin

can’t compare

I reckon she like it here

Mud erupts like lava from the spores on her body as she sways her derrière

a walking volcanic ink pen spouting her presence in the air

 

Swamp men get boring after a while she tell me

She misses Egypt from time to time, but know she

no longer mother of the nile

no longer lady of the lake or princess of the pond

nor woman dammed to a dam,

definitely not a damsel waiting on a negro

She done already retired her loch ness charade

Refused to hide her beauty inside of a cave

 

As I get pulled under

lungs get full of mud

Marsh mellows into black molasses

I drown with all the other quagmired creole folk, my fellow betrayed betrothed brothers

That foolishly admired her for too long like I did

No wonder the negro speaks of rivers, he couldn’t resist her figure

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