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Welcome to South Carolina MAG
Lonely two-lane roads,
dark, thick woods,
and rolling hills.
The sun sets behind us,
our eyes are drowsy, we can drive no more.
At a Ramada Inn
we ask the clerk
about restaurants with local color
since we can go to McDonald's at home.
Across the street, he says,
you'll find the Dixie Railroad.
A few old trucks
in the parking lot.
A Confederate flag hangs on the door.
No windows,
no sounds,
no life.
Southern Hospitality, the sign says.
So we enter and are overcome
by the stench of cigarettes
and the jukebox boom-chicka-boom
of Johnny Cash's
“Get Rhythm.”
People sitting in the bar
are unmoving,
unblinking,
unsmiling,
unfeeling,
unholy.
We tiptoe into another room:
dark, unadorned,
an empty stage,
in an empty space
where only the ghosts of happiness remain.
The faded lady
behind the bar
stares at us in silence.
Her customers do the same.
They seem dead,
yet they seem angry.
We head straight for the car
and pull onto the interstate
thinking only one thing
as we look for familiar flashing neon signs:
right now
A Big Mac never sounded so good.
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This article has 11 comments.
- Country Girl
"unmoving,
unblinking,
unsmiling,
unfeeling,
unholy."
becuase my brain naturally associates all of those "un" words with a negative connotation, which is exactly (I hope) the effect you were hoping for. I also liked how you put in the part that told us that you wanted to go to a place with "local color", and that place ended up having an unfriendly atmosphere, still relevant of a conflict that happened hundreds of years ago. It showed me that descrimination is still alive, even though we try to cover it up. Overall, I think this poem has a deep, serious meaninig, and I would easily give it five out of five stars.
3 articles 0 photos 26 comments
Wow.. it's like I'm there at the scene! Such descriptive details!
I love the ending. :)