Inside Sutter's Mill

by Rawclyde !

Up to me

you strutted

wearing shorts

   called Sutter's Mill ~

Your eyes glowed

your hair flowed

yes it was

   a deep thrill ~

When I felt

on my face

the heat of

  your smoker's cough ~

And Sutter's Mill



   off ~

You danced

I glanced

at your panties

   riding low ~

Low like my

low dreams

the kind I

   rarely show ~

Your low riders

my low dreams

went a flyin'

   high ~

Your eyes

glowed n' glowed

'til they outglowed

  the sky ~

Your legs

like swinging doors

allowed me

  to come on in ~

A mine shaft

so peerless

it makes

   my head spin ~

When you slipped

off Sutter's Mill

you gave power to

   my fragile song ~

When you slipped

off Sutter's Mill

well now I know

   where I belong ~

T'is a mine shaft

deep and sweet

as deep and sweet

   can be ~

It's walls lined

with shelves and shelves

of unspared

    poetry ~

I pick out

one volume

and read of

  a girl with a twig ~

Who stood

by a fence

and called out to

  her pig ~

Her pig who came

a running for a

special scratch

   upon his hide ~

Later he walked the

slaughterhouse plank

while the little girl

cried ~

Another volume

tells me of


   on a stage ~

Where a saloon girl


and dances

  page after page ~

Boldly she curses

and she fights

without a tear

   in her eye ~

But not 'til after

a depraving night

when all she did

  was cry ~

Careful as I

can be I push

still deeper

   into you ~

From another shelf

I pull out another

book of poems

  true ~

I see a soul

with a tight fist


   in your gut ~

I see a quiet

private person

climbing out of

   rut after rut ~

Oh these poems

are secret

the kind I

   shall not expose ~

I read the book

cover to cover

back into the shelf

   it goes ~

A little girl with

a book in her lap

squinted up at

   her "crazy" Pa ~

She said nothing

turned a page as

he got balled out

   by "stupid" Ma ~

The little girl

who is a woman now

read everything

  in sight ~


And each word

she read is

in her eyes as

   we make love tonight ~

Oh my dear

the bottom of

your mine shaft

  is very bright with treasure ~

Gems rubies diamonds

gold nuggets

piles of wealth

  without measure ~

Shelves of poetry

now this

what more

  can there be?

Little angels fly

up and down

this mine singing

songs to me!

(Copyright 1980/2011 Clyde Collins)




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