I used to dream of black freight liners and smoked out bars called 

Tilly’s or Don’s that held up far corner ramblers that sat 

In corners still. They’d sip their coffee and check gold pocket watches 

Like they had some place to be. I figure that’s what life was like

For a folk singer.

As a kid I would study grandpa’s LPs 

And wonder if his favorites were the ones with worn out sleeves or 

Ones that looked fresh from their cellophane. I would ask

What “freewheelin’” meant and how I’d go about doing it.

I had already had Dylan’s

Wild curls and so I began to wear my jeans high with a cinched belt 

Around my navel. I shoved my little boy

Fingers deep in the pockets of Uncle John’s mothballed olive drab jacket from 

When he went deaf in Vietnam. I sanded down my vocal cords to a 

Poet’s wail with midnight Pal Mals and I began to sing. 

I tied a grease-stained rope I peeled from the busted up handle of an

Axe I found at the Reno trash disposal and fastened it to each end

Of my wine-stain Harmony guitar. I’d say the grease was from the trains

I hopped to get to “Don’s”— the bar I chose to play my make believe show

For patrons I kept in my mind. 

“Don” kept a tight ship. His bar was all windows that looked

Into rows of black pecan trees and a small 

Pond run thick with duckweed and algae. I’d strum on three chord ballads to 

Tassel-eared squirrels and Carolina wren who probably didn’t know 

What a “downtown girl” was either. 

And when the tips of my fingers ached I’d pack it in and work the mines like a

Proper rambler. I’d sit in granny’s red clay driveway with her kitchen 

Spoons and dig out hunks of broken glass. Specks of deep greens and dark ambers 

Poked their heads out like jewels and I’d gather as much as could fit

In a plastic bag from the IGA and when my spoon bent back like

A coyote’s howling arch I’d offer my haul 

For a workman’s wage of sweet iced tea and a 

Mayfield ice cream sandwich.

I’d peel back the foil and savor my bites like road rations and

Ask grandma to sing Corrina, Corrina once more.