Southern Legitimacy Statement
river town
sleepy town
cajuncreole
spicy foods
filé gumbo
sultry air
pop guns
china berry trees
joie de vivre
laissez bon temps rouler
Amen
Bless, O Lord, this food we eat
Fiber, carbs, even pickled beet
Rack of lamb, corn on the cob
Roasted beef, shish kabob
Bless us, too, O Lord, we pray
We beseech thee in our humble way
We thank thee for our daily bread
Now that that’s been said
Let us all be fed – Amen
Jim Bob
Jim-Bob perceives a problem
that causes him distress.
He’d like more cash, new car,
some symbols of success.
He’d like to woo a lady –
for friendship and for fun –
to gallivant ‘cross the nation
after work is through and done.
He’d like to spend retirement
in luxury and style –
forget life’s disappointments,
bitterness, and guile.
One horn of his dilemma
perplexes him – ’tis true:
to get the cash, the car, the lady
to prove he’s rich like you.
So if you have a hankering
to help a friend in need,
Jim-Bob’s the kind of guy
who’d accept your gift – indeed.
He’d bless, praise, and grace you
with abundant osculations.
He’d greet your going and coming
with corporeal oscillations.
He’d introduce you to his friends
like Melanie and Dan.
He’d invite you to go fishing
or drive his Caravan.
Spend a night or two or three
beneath the starry sky.
He’d share his new-found riches
and thank the Lord on high –
that you were Jim’s salvation
with solutions for his woe:
more cash, new car, new lady
decked out from head to toe.
They’d hire a local limousine
for transport ’round the town
to celebrate their new abundance
dressed in tux and evening gown.
Should you yourself come upon hard times —
no cash, no car, no lady,
you can surely depend on the likes of Jim-Bob
and his new gal known as Sadie.
His name’s in the phone book —
his phone number, too.
But his address is unlisted –
unavailable to you.
That won’t be a hindrance
if you’re down on your luck.
If you just need a handout – a handup,
Jim-Bob’s mighty good
for a greenback buck!
Southern Hospitality
I wake up in the morning
attend to my ablutions
jump in the shower
shampoo
rinse
repeat
towel dry
comb my hair
with savoir-faire
as is my constitution.
Without a maid
it must be said
I’m left to these solutions:
make my bed
clean my bath
load the washer and the dryer
fold and sort
put away my socks and shorts
and other form of raiment.
Once a week – if not twice
there’s ironing, mending, sewing.
Without a maid or mom’s advice,
I keep the faucets glowing.
Since you asked,
I do do windows.
I even do the floors
tiled, paneled, carpeted
both inside and outdoors.
Not on my list – no need to fret
I’ll do it my own way.
I’m known to nit and pick at things
to pass the time of day.
But when it comes to shining shoes,
on this I must insist.
I’ll hire a butler with his buffers –
one thing I can’t resist.
I’ll give a call and he’ll come crawlin’
on hind legs and on fore.
You see – my hired butler comes
with talents I adore.
He’ll paste and wax two pairs of shoes
in half the time – ’tis true –
then whip me up a lunch divine
delicious Creole-Cajun stew.
His recipes are spiced just right
jazzed up New Orleans style:
shrimp etoufee, and crayfish boil
savory, flavory, hot, not mild;
sausage, crab, oysters, too,
gumbo by the bowl,
jambalaya on the side
to soothe my southern soul.
And when I’m done, I’ll praise the chef,
the waiter-butler, too.
Though he may be a reptile,
he’s my gator – shines my shoe.
If you’re invited to dine with him,
observe this rule, I say –
Don’t dare declare: “Tastes like chicken.”
Or you’ll end up his catch-of-the-day.
If he forgoes you for his lunch,
be grateful for the deed.
He may wrestle you before his brunch
and roll you in the weeds.
Don’t be surprised if you’re on his plate
and he relishes you – bit by bite.
His manners are delicate – impeccable even
’til every morsel has vanished from sight.
If you ask him quite nicely
how he enjoys homemade stew,
he’ll say, “You taste just like chicken –
so that is why I devour you!”
