Sour Lake circa 1865

Jesse Doiron

November 2, 2025

They blamed each other up and down

for what God had done—

Their girl near womanhood with her tongue

lolled out all the time, 

drivelin’ an’ snortin’ like a big round sow.

Poor thing.  Nothin’ wronger more than that

people’d say, “Too bad.” 

And this were awful true—“Too bad she lived.”

When she was young’un,

‘twas easy; no woman stuff to wonder.

Now— time come, but she was way behind.

Not knowin’ nothin’.

Not able to be learnt or even tolt.

Worse than knowin’,

some would say, is what the problem was.

Well, problems come and go, no matter who.

You have to face’em.

And she was far too far along to hide.

Take’r to the lake!

Doctor Mud kin make’r right enough. 

Ol’ Bazile, he’d been a slave, cured ol’ Sam

all his war-scar pain.

Looky here now,  ain’t no better doc 

from here to Galv’ston.

Got those moccasins he milks all day.

He says, “It takes poison to kill poison.”

He’ll give her thimble,

then wipe her down with his magic mud,

wash’r in the springs,

soak’r in the sulfur, shallow lake.

He said that’ll make’r expectorate,

and no one will know.

No worse than wringin’ a chicken neck.

This was awful true.

They’d blame it all on God what they would do.

Jesse Doiron has worked in Europe, the Middle East, and Asia as an educator and consultant. His teaching experience ranges from English for international business at the UC – Berkeley Extension in San Francisco to creative writing at the Mark Stiles Maximum Security Prison for the Texas Department of Criminal Justice.