There is no water in Frog Hollow
There is a makeshift memorial
Left at the barn with the
Cracked black window
Fake flowers and fake prayers
The true children mourn
In the swamps of Florida
Praying in the dirt
On thin, brown knees

Children unaware of the man and dog
Watching from the distance
The dog hungry for love
The man for fresh meat

I asked him how he knew it was a duck pond

Because the mallards are green and flirting,
And the women are plain but desired,
And his girl’s smile spreads like hot butter

But there are no more Masters, He told me,
And the tax on tobacco is a sin
Since cotton has been replaced with leather

Son, the numbers don’t lie
To the grease stain of the Mind
Still, I’ve run out of napkins,
But He said I should be fine.