Running Hot (Villanelle)

J. DENTON BRICKER

The tracks run hot as hell this time of day

That whistle hollers loud as can be

Men yank down on straw hats to look away

Her Cotton dress teases him with its sway

Golden locks trickle down like sweet honey

The tracks run hot as hell this time of day

Merle swigs moonshine ready to make his play

Her slow hums fill him with dangerous glee

Men yank down on straw hats to stare away

She squats in stifled earth near the dank bay

He sparks at her pale, dirt covered knees

The tracks run hot as hell this time of day

Her wholesome milky charm he will betray

Pin her skirts against the warted oak tree

Men yank down their straw hats and look away

Hollow and beaten once Merle’s had his way

Now a saddened bitter mother of three

The tracks run hot as hell this time of day

Men yank down on straw brims to look away