Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Church Men in Small Towns (A Poem)

This is the place I come from,
The humidity so thick
It slithers itself around your neck
Like the tail of a rattlesnake
Until you can’t properly breathe.
A town nestled deep in the forestry
Of thousand-year-old trees
That drink the air like water
And birth gnats and mosquitos ,
Those gray buzzing clouds
That move across your yard
in late evening like a surprise gift
to drink your porch light
and your blood, probably heavy
of bud light as you lay beside your pool,
the one in the backyard,
fat as a tick on barbeque and
the grilled chat of football or the coal banks,
those economical slave trades
of dirty streams and acid rain
that everybody and your brother
advocates to save while the hungry men
of local rest homes and the
delipidated apartment buildings
roam the downtown in torn shoe soles,
laden of the dirt and hunger of this city
while the common blue-collared family man,
fat on grease and beans,
fucks the loose women of 6th street
on their speilway fishing trips,
then  talk to Jesus on Sundays.

Written for a prompt at dverse poetry.  


  1. tight images...the trees that drink the air like water - the mosquitos drinking blood and porch how you put this and then the image you leave us with of course..the blue-collared family man...dang..tightly put..palpable hypocracy..

  2. Oh, this is such good realism with sensory images that just make it pop. Hope to see more of your work here at dVerse.

  3. did i miss this one? this has grit....could be anywhere, buts its real and your details bring it to life...what hypocrisy there in the end...


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