In a shanty, near a bog, by a
twenty-seven-miles south of Winton, Mississippi,
there is a lady, an old fossil of a lady who sits in a chair
embroidering pornographic designs on pillow shams.
Every weekend, heedless of hot or inclement weather,
in a roadside stand, built by someone she has long
she sells her pornographic pillow shams for a tidy profit.
It is said she's wealthy enough to retire, to buy a new
to move near relatives, but since she can't remember who
and this is all she knows to do, she sits, and embroiders
If you have any thoughts about this poem, J.D. Heskin would be
pleased to hear them.