Mother's Day

Prop the new flattop in my
Father's lap -- He thumbs a slow
chord, follows with a clean seventh

I press that slick solidbody
close to my ribs,
fingers eager to hit a few
cigarette-burn honkytonk licks

Settle on an old favorite
-- I can croon the hell out of this one
We almost hit the chorus
before I notice your eyes

Blaze-red and screamin' --
You cover your face -- buckle
let out two heaving sobs --
The little girl awakens, remembers
and spills onto your hands

Guess I never knew
Those whinin' rhinestone notes
could draw that kind of blood