“In Baton Rouge” by Vince Dill

Our thoughts of time travel
burnt up when Lester
sang the blues.

He moaned like a spaniel,
digging deep

Smacking the past in the chin,
he dumped a big lead ball
in-a barrel-a black syrup.
It sank down below
the Mason-Dixon line.

He gurgled in slow-mo
then stirred the stew.

He cut a melon in half
with a baseball bat,
then stopped to take a crap
In Baton Rouge.