Tilt-a-Whirl
A Poetry Sporadical of Repeating Forms

Miss Jesse’s Barn

I’m walkin’ up to Cannonsburgh, gonna paint Miss Jesse’s barn.
I’m walkin’ up to Cannonsburgh, gonna paint Miss Jesse’s barn.
Miss Jesse’s such a lonely girl, need a hand out on the farm.

I’m strollin’ up to Cannonsburgh, gonna milk Miss Jesse’s cow.
I’m strollin’ up to Cannonsburgh, gonna milk Miss Jesse’s cow.
Poor girl needs a hand out there, because she’s a widow now.

I’m runnin’ up to Cannonsburgh, gonna plow Miss Jesse’s field.
I’m runnin’ up to Cannonsburgh, gonna plow Miss Jesse’s field.
Miss Jesse’s such a lonely girl since her husband done got killed.

I’m dancin’ up to Cannonsburgh, gonna dig Miss Jesse’s well.
I’m dancin’ up to Cannonsburgh, gonna dig Miss Jesse’s well.
When the sun falls in the okra field, gonna ring Miss Jesse’s bell.

There ain’t nothing in her mule stall but a bed of winter hay.
There ain’t nothing in her mule stall but a bed of winter hay.
It’s been just about a harvest moon since I shot him down that day.

Ed Markowski lives and writes inAuburn Hills, Michigan. His poems and stories have been widely published and anthologized and he is a regular contributor of fiction to Smokebox Magazine.