The Queen of Picher
loved the wife of a Baptist preacher
and every night she dreamed she kissed her
in a rowboat on the poisoned red waters of hell.
But it wasn't enough to dream it,
so she went down in the old mines to scream it
til her throat was raw as fresh-rolled sin
and she felt as bright as a Baptist bell.
On Saturday nights she ponder and think
of forty-five ways to wring a preacher's neck,
Then Sunday come and she sigh and sink
into an ass-killin' pew, and the sermon last a week.
Rock of ages,
cleft for me--
let me hide
this sweet burnin' desire for thee.
The Queen of Picher couldn't get her
self in hand, and so she kissed her only love
in broad daylight in the middle of town--
But knees and mines can both go weak,
and by the second kiss, the whole damn street
went down, baby, they fell through thin air straight down.
The Queen of Picher and the Baptist minister's
wife now lie entwined at the bottom of the shaft--
in the shadow of the chat heaps...
and that was that.
top photo by my friend Daryl Edelstein, featured today at Real Toads!
bottom photo is of an abandoned church in Picher. To learn about the modern day ghost town of Picher, Oklahoma, click HERE.
optional musical accompaniment available HERE. (opens in new window)