Driving down a wide country road
In the backwoods of Kentucky,
The sound of the blues rides the airwaves,
Rocking me to my core.
My soul shakes before the eyes of God
(a.k.a. Robert Johnson)
As he sits on a fire hydrant on the corner of an empty intersection,
Hitchhiking and grinning at each passing driver,
Seeking salvation from his hellish fate
And looking to gain entrance into heaven.
Mephistopheles, have mercy on his soul,
For he knows which way the wind blows.
Let us take a moment to observe the sunflower,
A rather large, prehistoric plant
That transforms any field or garden into a primeval forest.
On its tall, art nouveau stalks
Rest any and all manner of insect,
Gnawing away at the fanlike leaves with an appetite like that of vagrants
A land of Southern pride and hospitality
Where a friendly smile goes a long way
And the people you encounter on the street
Share their intimacy with you,
A lover’s embrace
In the sultry, languorous air,
Which is heavy with the scent of bourbon.
Sunset like a Rothko print,
Vibrant colors clearly separated,
Yet melding into one.
Gazing longingly to the North,
The faint glow of the Queen City
Promises freedom from the pain
Of earthly struggles.
© Chester Sakamoto