My Town

It’s that one horse town

you’ll never remember the name of.

Where the heat is high,

and that sweet tea sweatin’ cold.

Mom and pop own the shops

and Wal-Mart is just a city thang.

My town.

Where I’m lazing in the maze of dew-ridden stalks

gazing at the soon blazing sun

but only for a moment

because there’s work to be done.

Red rusted but trusted clunkers sputter loud

to life and tutter down dirt driveways

passing playing friends and siblings alike,

on their way down to the clear blue springs.

They all make their way lazy-like

to beat my town’s summer heat wave

while grammy’s, grannies and aunties laugh

from their four side porches, humming hymns

n’ recounting young sins and flings and things

While they watch those white clouds roll by.

Women sipping that sweet tea, reminiscing

‘bout days gone by and the latest gossip

meant only for grown folks’ ears.

My town.

Where sweat on the brow and Jesus

are the best teachers on the weekend.

Where Sundays are for our Lord and family

and morn’s start before dawn

or the sun done poked his head

up over our flower ridd’n lawn

we’ve already been up n’ made our bed.

The town with churches all the same

One fan. One room. One church body

filled with too many bodies, all sweating

from heat or holy heavenly savior

no one can ever tell.

But the women still readily fall out

Fans in hand, rattled and addled

regardless of bodily or spiritual affliction.

It’s that town where well water

runs fresh, aquifer blue and endless.

It whispers, whooshes and dribbles

as it keeps teeth chattering

like the sweet old ladies at Azalea park,

where it smells like white tulips

and the air lingers on your clothes

n’ you get your first real kiss

behind that pearl colored gazebo.

That town where birds still chirp

and lawn mowers pave the way

for fresh cut grass to reach your nose

and grandma’s pies n’ cobblers line sills,

wafting scents through still air and timeless homes.

Where the feel of grass

leaves exposed toes and soles a little softer

and the children laughing rests on ears a little more

musically as it rings out yonder through the fields.

My town,

where I can walk down streets with bare-feet

keeping to the grass, because sidewalks are a rarity.

Where the smell of love in the form of pound cake

ruminates in the house when I come to town.

Where everyone tips their head and gives a sunshine smile

and “ma’am” or “sir” are in no short supply.

Where pain and hurt came in awful frequent doses

but family was always there,

with solid steel love yet a soft hand,

Providing solid earth on which to stand.

That town where I almost lost myself,

In the thicket of 319 every now and again.

Where I left the boy that I was

but became the man I am.