Bent Tones by C. D. Wright

Bent Tones 

There was a dance at the black school.

In the shot houses people were busy. 

A woman washed her boy in a basin, sucking

a cube of ice to get the cool. 

The sun drove a man in the ground like a stake.

Before his short breath climbed the kitchen's steps 

She skipped down the walk in a clean dress.

Bad meat on the counter. In the sky, broken glass. 

When the local hit the trestle everything trembled —

The trees she blew out of, the shiver owl, 

Lights next door — With her fast eye

She could see Floyd Little

Changing his shirt for the umpteenth time.