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The Porter Wagoner Show


My father always calling him, "Ole Porter,"

                             Saturday afternoons

     around our mammoth yet fuzzy Zenith,

                   Granny's doily on top,

     the aunts in their chairs, me on the hassock

     with a sudden interested in country music

                   since the Beatles did that Buck Owens song.

Rhinestone suits and corn pone jokes,

                               my introduction to camp -

                               bad could be good -

the rest of them lapping it up with no irony.

                     They'd sifted Martha White,

                     used a crank telephone.

                     They laughed at Lonzo, loved String Bean.

The weekly gospel number not a favorite until

                     that new girl, (what we all called her)

       showed up singing church songs like she meant it.

                     "That one's just being herself," Granny said.

The Zenith pixels responding, their lines stacked

                       tighter now, cathode rays

                       shooting straighter when we heard the words,

                                     "And now, Dolly."

This was my sign to scoot the hassock closer,

                         lean, touch the rabbit ears,

          her cowgirl blouse sharpening,

          its mother-of-pearl buttons straining,

                                     heroic, reflecting studio lights,

          the new girl flowing through me now.

Oh, blessed contrast! Oh, genuine smile! Oh, buttons!

          And no matter how stretched or cramped

          my loving arms got,

                                     when my father yelled,

                          "There! Hold it right there, son,"

I was to remain her antenna throughout the number,

                           an intimacy I held dear,

                           just between us.

            Plus my father had called me, "son."

                           Maybe she'd sing two this week.

            "Papa loved this hymn," Aunt Dora sniffed.

                          "Sally!" My father yelled back to Mama

                                       in the kitchen.

"Sally, quick! Ole Porter's got the new girl on again!"

Rupert Fike.jpg

Rupert Fike

Pronouns: He/His

1 Poem

The Porter Wagoner Show


Rupert Fike's (he/his) second collection of poems, Hello the House, was named one of the "Books All Georgians Should Read, 2018" by The Georgia Center for the Book. It also won the Haas Poetry Prize from Snake Nation Press. His poems and stories have appeared in The Southern Poetry Review, Scalawag Magazine, The Georgetown Review,  A&U America's AIDS Magazine, The Flannery O'Connor Review, The Buddhist Poetry Review, Natural Bridge, and others. He has a poem inscribed in a downtown Atlanta plaza.

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