Watercolor on Paper, Laserprint on Tissue

22" x 14" w/o Matte 

 

Prices are negotiable on original art. 

 

Text

Beefmaster

 

Stomach's rumbling like the muffler

on the rusted-out pickup in my rear view mirror

when against the setting sun, I see

The Beefmaster Cafe.

That's what the sign says framed

with red and white light bulbs

neon footnotes flash  "Hickory Smoked

                                                  Hickory Smoked

                                                            Hickory Smoked"

 

Inside, ceiling fans twirl counter-clockwise

as flies fly clockwise around the counter.

 

He's the Beefmaster,

with a past as checkered as the tablecloths.

Been here since the farm folded—

don't know why.

He stands maybe 6'2" in his white apron.

"Ya'll kin eat outsod. We got music out thar,"

he boasts as the radio’s tin jingle jangles

spill from windows

while he strolls from table to table

and flies buzz in and out.

 

Mrs. Beefmaster, dressed in nurse-blue polyester hollers,

"Getcha anythang?" as she stands behind

the $3.99 deep-fried

chicken dinner buffet,

turning over corn, carrots,

black-eyed peas that lost their bubble

and mashed potatoes rose fresh on