Father, Motel, Sugarland, Texas

Asleep and the black birds
pass over the oilfields and truckers.
Turn your back on the black and smoke
when we were brother and sister.

Nothing you can do,
Nothing you can do
will make you a lady.

You rode their backs,
brown and black,
trailer park lunch snack.

And the sign says
And your red eyes say
And the bolt moves
And the boy shifts
And the soul grits its teeth

We are here to wipe up your mess.
We are open for business.
I am your goddess.