after The Queen of Country, Dolly Parton
Drag Queens across the valley
hold their wigs across their hearts
and a dive regular plays Taps
with her acrylics on the bar.
Doves and does alike
put their white away in mourning
and all the hawks of the holler
take a rest from soaring.
We all light up cigarettes
and take a swig of shine,
pass the jar around, and join
the babe in crying.
On the day that Dolly dies
a part of us goes with her,
but well after she’s laid to rest
her rhinestones’ll shimmer.
