Katie Dear

June 12, 2008
By
Papa was a rolling stone, she says—
shuffling a deck of cards missing its joker.
Go with the Gypsy Davy, go with the Gypsy Dave.
Mama was just seventeen, she says.
I refuse to listen.
Turn aside to my Tennessee music box.
Good night, Katie. Goodbye, Katie dear.
Mama’s got a silver dagger, she says—
ain’t afraid to kill you.
I refuse to listen.
A silver streak of highway howled in night.
Sweet harmony against the starless air.
It calls me, I say. It calls me, Katie. Dear.





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