Diann Blakely

History

It's blood, and generals who were the cause,

Shadows we study for school. In Nashville, lines

Of a Civil War battle are marked, our heroes

The losers. Map clutched in one fist, my bike

Wobbling, I've traced assaults and retreats,

Horns blowing when I stopped. The South's hurried

And richer now; its ranch-house Taras display

Gilt-framed ancestors and silver hidden

When the Yankees came, or bought at garage sales.

History is bunk. But who'd refute that woman

Last night, sashaying toward the bar's exit

In cowboy boots to drawl her proclamation?—

"You can write your own epitaph, baby,

I'm outta here—comprendo?—I'm history."

Diann Blakely's website is here.

Her books are available at Amazon and other outlets.

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