My Trailer Trash Soul

Thus came I to meet my trailer-trash Soul,

When locked in the depths of my mind's Unknown,

Her chubby hand drew me from death untold,

After Her rescue from my Hellion.

* * *

Forlorn in a basement ruled by a king,

Who screams from his throne, "Don't let the frogs in,"

I toil obedient, guarding his gate,

An old hefty door, the color of slate.

"How it drags! How it creaks!" My hoarse voice sings,

As the outside swamp's light steely pours in,

Along with the stench of sick, dying things,

And the sharp sound of croaks, blood-curling thin.

Forth moves that army of sharp-toothed creatures,

Leaping toward me with frog-like features;

The door grudgingly slows their sure advance:

I fear their raw speed won't give me a chance.

"Keep the frogs out!" Croaks the king's ashen voice,

An enchanted shout that gives me no choice,

But the frogs just keep coming, fast and cold,

Impossibly swift, impossibly bold.

"How they croak! How they leap!" My pinched voice cries,

Bulbous eyes fix me as the door goes, "Wham!"

And gone is the view of the monstrous swamp,

Save for one frog that by my foot, dead lies.

Away from the gate, my body goes limp,

Collapsed on an old, rotten-velvet chair;

I doze off to the smell of brine and shrimp,

And the sound of the king chewing his fare.

***

"Who let that bird in?" The old king now shrieks,

My slumber sloughs off in tatters of dreams;

The small wingèd creature, legs like two sticks.

Unable to fly, runs atop the beams.

"It will soil my silk!" The dull king calls,

But glued to the chair, my body just stalls;

Only my head turns, my limbs made of stone,

I gaze at the bird, "Oh, fie! It has grown!"

Swift as an arrow, I chase the bird down,

Through the basement's clutter, I deftly plow;

The bird stands taller than the old king now,

His beak, a sharpened sword, takes the king's crown.

"Shoo, bird, shoo!" Wildly screams the angry king,

But fixed to his throne, he has no way out,

The bird, now a phoenix, spreads its wing,

Smothers the king's face and muffles his shout.

Ready to jump in, I brusquely inhale,

But a scream outside, stops me on my feet:

A siren call, it mimics, fraught but sweet,

Stronger than the king's, the will in her wail.

"Kill the bird, kill the bird," the king implores,

His voice but a thread, by soft feathers drowned,

But the bewitching pitch of the girl’s tones,

Beckons me to pursue her eerie sound.

With the door dragged open, frogs in large heaps,

Like living mounds, hit the floor with a whomp,

I sidestep their bulk, eyes fixed on the swamp,

And there on a rock, my muse lies and weeps.

I balk at the sight, her trailer-trash chic:

Through a white dress shirt, her braless breasts gleam,

Daisy dukes can't hold her fleshy thigh meat,

Between them blonde hairs: a horrid sneak peek!

One bare foot dipped in the murky water,

Her red lips locked in an incessant scream,

My trailer-trash lass, blue-eyed bayou queen,

Bides me save her, from untimely slaughter.

"The frogs! The bird!" The king behind me cries,

His shape sunk in a stack of starved creatures:

A fine phoenix pecks at his kingly eyes,

While frogs devour his fleshly features.

My damsel in distress, trailer-trash witch,

Brings her scream to a newly heightened pitch;

Following her gaze, I spot in the deep,

A dark shape swimming at her naked feet.

It breaks out of the mire, slithering black,

Claws pointed like spires reach out and attack,

My damsel crawls back, away from large teeth,

As the reptile-man plunges back beneath.

Pulled by unseen strings, heedless, I dive in,

Swimming deep below with eyes peeled and keen,

Hunting for anything: rock, bone, or tooth,

The need of a weapon is my only truth.

Rock in hand, I swim toward the black beast,

Its manlike form rising toward its feast;

I reach between its legs, and with swift ease,

Grab what there swings and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze.

We surface as the monster shrieks and shouts,

Its form squirms but my grip holds tight and stout,

Rows of teeth turn to meet me tooth-to-face.

From its eyes stares back the dark void of space.

I raise my rock-filled hand, ready to bash,

Find instead a dagger, eager to slash,

Without pause, I plunge it into its heart,

As deadly and as certain as Love's dart.

Tightly embraced, we fall into the depth,

Its final struggle becoming my death,

My rescue becomes a tragic shipwreck,

Until a soft hand grabs me by the neck.

She pulls me upward as if I weighed naught,

On her rock, tenderly, she lays me down;

"For your soul,” she says, “You have fiercely fought,”

Tracing the spot where sat my former crown.

With dreamy eyes I can see her brow,

Over-bleached blonde curls pulled back like wet strips.

"My Soul--," I speak, words dying on my lips,

But she quiets me with her ancient drawl.

* * *

Thus came I to save my trailer-trash Soul,

Shadow-sister from the depth, my heart’s song,

Once asunder, now joined, shunning the cold,

We move forth as one, forever two-strong.