With a pop top,
a stutter step
and a shudder of thrill under string-lights;
a boot slide
and a buckle flash
in a chorus of pedal-steel nights;
my gun-grip hand,
your denim waist,
a waltz of sheer terror and awe;
the band roared
and so did you:
you had me at YEEHAW.
J. M. Jordan recently began writing again after a twenty-year hiatus. He is a Georgia native, a Virginia resident, and a homicide detective by profession.