My Uncle Bunt could strike
a match on his overalls,
or was it the men who
used to hang out with him?
It’s hard to recall,
I only remember
the thrill and terror
of the act,
the embarrassment
and shame I felt
for the stout-looking black man
who came into the store
while the men were sitting around,
a tattered hole in his overalls
exposing his bare flesh.