My head is in the mountains
where she’ll be commin’ around
any minute now, to take me away
It's time to rise and shine, old Haleyville!
The morning jockey yelps into a mike
That twangs his tinny tenor to the hills
I barely know the song. My fingers feel
Like fuzzy okra pods as Jon asserts
His snare into the bridge. Then Flip reveals
His family genes and belts aloud those notes
by Harold Whit Williams
Colbert County, Alabama 1980
We stroll these tracks beside the Memphis road.
We laugh and toss some clods against an oak
That stood when Davis donned a dress and stowed