A moment in a Mississippi juke joint: Wilma Mae looks at John L. his slender eyes and taut behind, bared arms blackberry dark with grapefruit sized biceps, but especially the massive slope of his head with broad textures like the benin bronze she didn’t consciously know about but subconsciously gravitated toward and those teeth shiney like lighthouses down on the gulf coast flashing thourhg the ink of stormy night wilma mae looked at his feet and the go slow grind of his hips keeping time to the juke box & sucked her breath in slowly, she would have taken a seat except she was already sitting with her thighs pressed tightly closed just then john l. threw his head back and sprayed the ceiling with the mirth of his laughter and casually did a little dip on the off beat of the break in the undulating song “god,” she thought, “that man look like a tractor, & I feels like a field what ain’t never been plowed…” —kalamu ya salaam