Lowdown Lovesick Blues
Look for my baby, she’s
lookin’ for shoes—
This only the start of my lovesick blues.
That gal would look good
in a croaker sack,
But all she think is new clothes on her back.
When I give her the eye
like I’m wantin’ to:
“Which look better,” she ask, “green or
And when I’m gone
in those eyes and those lips,
She’s tellin’ me pleats won’t do on her
Think I’ve lost my
baby to clothes not booze—
Tell me which one’s worse for the lovesick blues.
Come around, Baby, come
out of that store,
Just turn the handle and open my door.
Catalogues be the devil,
that’s what they are—
Let me be your wishbone, I be your star.
Only you know how you mess
with my mind—
Gal, that mirror tell you don’t be unkind.
I’m suffering, Baby,
come lie by my side.
Bring that old mischief, I got no more pride.
We ain’t got all night
and that ain’t news—
You know how to cure these lovesick blues.
Lewis directs graduate
religious studies at the University of South Carolina. His
poems have appeared in Aethlon: The Journal of Sport
Literature, The Christian Century, Anglican
Theological Review, and Studia Mystica.
Select a poem:
First Prize - Potter's
Second Prize - Pockets
Third Prize - Little
Honorable Mention - Lowdown
Honorable Mention - Unavoidably