Thursday, August 28, 2014

out of monroe


And I overhear the tales told
With no prepared purpose
By the long weathered farmers
Planted on the front porch.
The eldest leans forward
And rests his elbows
On his aching knees.
He listlessly holds a cigar
       (Telling so much of his efforts)
But his bright blue eyes reveal
The truth of how he mastered the fields.
         Along 677.

In their only clothes that are dirt worn,
The husband and wife
Traipse up the front steps,
Resigned to their lives...
Still hoping for a future.
And the laughter of the children
Chasing chickens and goats
Interposes a specific contrast.

The cash register opens and change
Is made at the counter
For varied dry goods.
And I overhear the whisper
Of the keeper
Giving another
Thirty days of credit.
He slumps his shoulders.
He wants to help,
But even he can't pay his own bills.
From behind the counter,
A curly brown haired girl
In a stained, pink jumper
Scampers with mischief.

Iron weed and golden rod
Splash color along the ways
Inspite of the Cross Roads dust
Covering everything,
Turning the white-washed boards
The color of tobacco stained teeth.
And the old man with the
         Blue Eyes
Smiles at the baby cooing
In the young mother's arms.
He knows that still a future
Is to come as the dust
Settles from a passing truck.

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