First comes the buzz, then the total bummer,

sister. Being poor, it was turpentine

mixed with fizzy Koolaid. Memphis Croaker,

the kids called it. I tried Blue Loo Moonshine,

Purple Powder Hooch, Krud Kutter rot-gut.

Too sick to write, I lay in bed for weeks.

Maggots under the skin. My brain-socket

all wrong. Praying to the Goddess of Freaks

for words. Blithe, Oven Cleaner Juice be Muse

words, and… that “total bummer” was made flesh.

Flesh to bruise and scar. Proof something happened.

Proof-filled stump of butcher’s thumb. Blue dress blues.

“Make it Def,” no longer served. “Make it Fresh,”

though, still tasted of gasoline and almond.