Joe in a swivel chair
laughs from the belly --
                    down on the bayou,
                    the season begins --
Joe hunkers forward.
His shoulders are hairy --
                    down on the bayou,
                    the mud breaks like skin --
Joe lifts his feet up:
the mud suffers beartracks --
                    down on the bayou,
                    the women are moaning --
Joe in the evening,
even and waiting --
                    the bayou bed rising,
                    black women whirling --
Joe shifts his vision.
His eyes are half-open --
                    the women are shrieking,
                    the mud at their bellies --
Joe heaving upward,
spitting and sundering --
                    the moon on the bayou,
                    hears noises like slurping --
Joe.