Wheatland to Big Rock to Dixon
and before you know it
I’m back in Scott County
—my old stomping grounds
Old Big Rock though
is one big mystery
no Post Office or cafe
or any business to speak of
one church & a few houses
situated here & there
but most importantly
not a single solitary boulder
to be spotted anywhere
january two thousand twenty-five
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jesse james was a virgo
a creative in his own right
inputting & processing
like nobody’s business
until shot from behind
they say at the end
he had a black cat named
mercury
(it’s a virgo thing)
but that little nugget
never made it
to the mainstream media
november two thousand twenty-two
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
forensic science is alive and well
in most of these here parts
despite what’s been codified
some internal wars are never over
collisions continue on a regular basis
like rogue comets passing through
rather unsophisticated asteroid belts
those on the ground continue to shoot
at the moon haphazardly
while snipers in the trees prefer
the precision of ropes and ladders
some past sins are not easily forgotten
let alone forgiven
this land of the free is riddled with asterisks
just look to anyone still on the run
june two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
there is no royalty in america
perhaps that is what we are missing
a figurehead family that occasionally
admonishes its government
whenever it goes astray
with royalty in america
ordinary children would have
royal offspring to relate to and admire
watching them grow up and
learning from their mistakes
instead of following the likes of
movie stars and overpaid athletes
and career politicians whose
best interests rarely align
with their own constituents
but alas here in america
all we have are american baseball
american football
american cinema
american pie (and chevrolet)
oh yes
all we have are presidents
who come and go
while the machinery behind the scenes
continues to grease that which none of us
can truly ever change
january two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
i found myself without obligations
one saturday morning
and decided to ride jenny
down to the river
to parlor city where they
serve breakfast on weekends
the place was busy but i managed
to snag the last seat at the bar
and ordered a bloody mary
and hot skillet
full of meats and potatoes
and veggies and eggs
it soon became clear the clean
shaven gentlemen sitting next to me
was most likely smashed on vodka
perhaps even as high
as a champion kite
what do you do he hissed at me
i’m a poet i said shoving food in my mouth
there’s nobody smart enough in this town
to be a poet he slurred
i put my fork down and picked up
my bloody and took a healthy swallow
you listen to me i said using my best
dirty harry impersonation
i’m gonna go out to jenny and get
my colt 45
and if you’re still here
when i get back
i’m gonna make you dance
january two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
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