The giddyup boys are good with guns, don’t recycle.
They are by nature foragers and non-believers living in their parents’ houses.
They wrestle in the open cage of commerce, knocking one another down.
When they come on stage they forget their lines.
Gruffness becomes them; they are surly in public.
When I knew them as kids we caught snakes.

The translator links me to them from a trace
of language:
_                              crick, busted, ain’t, holler._

The girl whose older brothers are bad is also bad.
What happened in the dark of small houses and trailer parks
I barely knew.  Say as means pretend.  When asked
it’s always the same untranslatable answer:

_                                                                      can’t say as I don’t know it._