EULAH MAE

Eulah Mae

I’ve been in love with Eulah Mae Parker since
the eighth grade when she stuck her hand down
inside my pants and fondled my privates. She’s
neither ugly nor stupid, and I like that she’s
chubby with warm breasts and loins—great to
sleep next to on cold winter nights. Her first
name means sweet-spoken, and she is, but
she’ll come at you and cuss like a sailor if riled.

She is blessed with an instinct for down-home
cooking. I salivate each time I think about her
stewed chicken with homemade noodles, ham
hocks with lima beans, and homemade cherry
and chocolate cream pies. And just as important
as her ability in the kitchen is her ability in the
bedroom where she is assertive and adventurous
with no need for a lot of sweet talk and foreplay.

She only has two flaws: One, she keeps bringing
up the M-word—marriage, having kids, and going
into debt so we can buy a house with a big yard
and space for a garden, all of which scares the
hell out of me. And two, she snores and farts like
a warthog some nights when she’s asleep. But
flaws aside, she keeps me happy with what a man
wants most—great sex and down-home cooking.

Houston Surrounds

Bold, alive, thriving, and boundless with
lip-smacking barbecued ribs and brisket;
all kinds of beer, hard liquor, drugs, and sex;
and plenty of down-home southern charm.

BUT. . .

Plagued with ungodly heat and humidity;
destructive hurricanes and tornadoes;
and heavy rains, levee leaks, and flooding.

Brimming with ants, roaches, and mesquites;
scorpions, black widows, and brown recluses;
and copperheads, cottonmouths, and rattlers.

Lots of drab concrete and asphalt and exposed
to wind-blown, polluted northern air with
added pollutants from nearby refineries.

Crowded with heavy traffic and congestion,
lots of car accidents, crime ridden streets,
and poverty and homelessness in plain sight.

Out of sight and rising property taxes, and
arrogant, loud, and racist Texans, driving
pickups with six-packs and guns within reach.

Endless influx of people from other states,
threatening to turn its conservative confines
into the progressive messes they left behind.

BUT AGAIN. . .

Bold, alive, thriving, and boundless with
lip-smacking barbecued ribs and brisket;
all kinds of beer, hard liquor, drugs, and sex;
and plenty of down-home southern charm.

Sam and Sarah

Sam took Sarah’s love for
granted and drove her away
with his selfish, unkind, and
sometimes abusive behavior.

And by the time it dawned
on him what he had done, it
was too late to make amends.

Sarah left him and recovered
with a new love. He tried to
do the same, but to no avail.

And as time passed, he lost
himself in a life of loneliness
with haunting memories of
her love and nagging regret.

He Versus She

Although pretending otherwise, he wanted
a divorce from her long before he got it. He only
held their marriage together for as long as he did
because he feared a divorce would separate
him from his children; destroy their sense of
family; and split apart the lives of the two halves
that made them feel whole, wanted, and protected.

And so, he tried his best to tolerate her irritability,
nitpicking, accusations, and ceaseless nagging.
But with each try, frustration and resentment
swelled inside him and exploded into rage,
which invariably prompted her to threaten him
with separation from his children, the one thing
that gave her decisive leverage in their marriage.

After each confrontation, he calmed himself,
groveled, and continued his pretension. But little
by little, his ability to hold the marriage together
and spare himself and his children the inevitable
ran its course. And so, he ended the marriage
while she portrayed herself as the long-suffering
victim and insisted their failure was all his fault.

Ballad of Hot Momma

Dressed up in red silk, pearls, and black leather, Hot Momma tramps round the corner to the dance hall in search of a honey for the night. She passes on a short dude, waved off on a rich rube, and declines the advances of a fun guy with jive.

At a quarter till eleven, she gives up and makes ready to leave. But as she heads for the door, she spots a big and tall man, well-dressed, fit, and all man, and he’s looking at her.

She flashes a smile, and as he struts in her direction, she watches the fire dance in his eyes. And when he comes close, she puts her hands on her hips, puckers her lips, and says, “Hey big and tall man, well-dressed, fit, and all man, I’m Hot Momma, and I want you for my honey tonight.”

They drink some and talk some, then sashay round the dance floor till a quarter to three. His hands move all over her body, and he whispers of sweet things that could be.

Her heart pounds inside; she feels weak in the knees; and at times, she struggles to breathe. Finally, she grabs his arm and says, “Come on, big and tall man, well-dressed, fit, and all man, I want to be more than just teased.”

She leads him straight out the door and round the corner to her place in a high-rise on the sixth floor. Inside, she peels off her clothes in a hot sexy manner and slips between red satin sheets. Then she watches him strip off his clothes as he prances around and shows off his delights underneath.

In bursts of unbridled passion, she makes him love her just right. And when she has had all she wants, she whispers, “Hey big and tall man, undressed, fit, and all man, I’m your Hot Momma, and I want you again for my honey tonight.”

Frank Zahn is an author of fiction, nonfiction, and poetry. His publications include nonfiction books, articles, commentaries, book reviews, and essays; novels; short stories; and poetry. Currently, he writes and enjoys life at his home among the evergreens in Vancouver, Washington. For details, visit his website, www.frankzahn.com.