Going South

Low slung pants, wide legs drag
across the ground beneath your feet.
Name brand border rides high
like a flag that raises my flag.
A semaphore promise
of what is to come from
below that Mason-Dixon Line.

We are boy-toy soldiers
on opposite sides of the war.
I'll raid your cotton fields
Free your slave in bondage with lips
that bring succor to those
that need release. Burst free,
spill over loose pants at your feet.

I'll take as my booty
The name brand flag, a white signal
to waiting Calvary.
Salty essence sealed in the cloth
as I lower your flag
take you as my captive
and rebuild what I have toppled.

Boy in hip riding pants,
I conquered your denim blockade,
razed the fabric that molds
over your hidden boy places
and given you freedom.
Go out into the world
and imitate this example.