Melanie Browne- Three Poems

Cause I ain't in no hurry at all....

men with sleeve tattoos

wait in line for barbecue and beer,

we eat fried pies and feel like

outsiders,

young women with

babies on their hips

pull out fresh cigarettes,

confederate soldiers

wear grooves in their

trench, the past

and present a mosaic

in the burning Vicksburg sky

Ignatius Doesn't live here anymore

In N'awlins we buy 

vintage rock t-shirts

and voodoo dolls,

I practice poking the pins

into my dolly,

she is supposed to

give you nice dreams,

I hear snippets of conversation,

a woman sitting on some steps

is talking with her hands,

"She reached around and 

grabbed his dick like this,"

she stands up to demonstrate,

but we are rushing back to the

car, the humidity 

and the Everclear

already taking their toll,

I kiss New Orleans goodbye and

head back into the heat

a strange new energy

buzzing in my head



Savannah Ghosts get a little bit thirsty

they wander in circles under
the soft green moss,
one hand holding a drink,
the ice melts and drips
from the sides of their Venetian
glass, the other hand holds a
cigarette with blue tinged smoke,
Savannah ghosts get a little thirsty,
it's the humidity and their terrible
memories, the buildings that
light up at night like ancient
shipwrecks, the skulls of
sea-captains, the jazz
that drifts out from
the orange angry sky,
Savannah ghosts walk
in circles under the
soft green moss,
it drips from their hair on
to the soft, soft ground