Hillbilly Roar

There's pro wrestling in town

at the armory,

and I can hear all the

hillbilly roar

from my house.

Hillbilly roar

from a mile off.

So I wedge my knees

against the well-polished wood

of the skinhead bar-

the one with all the good beers-

and there's a guy with a broken

volume knob-

turned up until it cracked off.

And a girl crying

sounds like a rodent

with broken ribs.

And the bartender,

his hat just like mine,

is showing a regular the professional

wrestler trading cards

he collected when he was a kid.