mama sings sometimes,
her voice trickling 
like bourbon over ice.

her song haunts me,
and makes me fearful
of who i am 
and who i could be.

my mother sings
and the hair on the back of my neck
stands up like corn fields.
she sings and i am frozen,
like a deer caught in headlights,
waiting for the collision
to strike me dead,
mesmerized by this forgein being,
hurdling towards me, unyielding.

her song leaves me dead
on the side of the road,
bloated.