Angling
Backwards people,
that whole town
knew my people,
they were backwards.
Quiet folks,
their translucent green,
almost colorless eyes,
the stern faces
an exact replica of
the little yellow creek fish
their youngins scooped up
in old plastic Quick Stop cups
to use as bait in hopes of bigger catches.
The men never stayed.
The women never left.
And the children just ran
around dirty and doing
what comes natural until
they too took their place in the stream.
5 thoughts on "Angling"
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Painfully rich. Thank you.
Wonderful written. It feels like home.
Love this succinct yet knowing homage.
Painful.
Home!