Crossroad Blues
“I went to the crossroad, fell down on my
knees”
Robert
Johnson
Some people go down to the crossroad from heart hunger, from
being badly loved since that first kiss. Others want advice disguised as
directions. Others go because they were born fearless, want to learn what fear
is.
It helps if you smell like film noir dreams and worn out
coins. If you carry bad luck, in your back pocket, as if it’s a postcard from
home.
Most days, the Devil wears a fedora. His smile, forever
white. His voice, the accent of an old friend. There’s a joke he loves to make
about how his handshake isn’t as warm as people expect. It’s his eyes though
everyone notices. No one ever says if they are hazel, brown, or blue. Just that
they hold your attention longer than any wish.
Mike James has been widely published in magazines, large and
small, throughout the country. His thirteen poetry collections include: Jumping Drawbridges in Technicolor (Blue
Horse), First-Hand Accounts from Made-Up
Places (Stubborn Mule), Crows in the
Jukebox (Bottom Dog), My Favorite
Houseguest (FutureCycle), and Peddler’s Blues (Main Street Rag.) He has served as an associate editor
for the Kentucky Review and Autumn
House Press, as well as the publisher of the now defunct Yellow Pepper Press. He
makes his home outside Nashville, Tennessee. More information can be found on
his website at mikejamespoetry.com.
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