A serious, dark poem about the past
|We ate our donuts and climbed into the van,|
And our case manager asked who wanted
To take the back road home.
We were amenable to the scenery we'd see,
So most of us answered favorably.
Our van left the town and entered the dirt road
Leaving the businesses on Main Street behind.
We drove next to a muddy river,
A good habitat for water moccasins.
Trees grasped the muddy river bed, bare
In Winter, silent witnesses to the past.
Four derelict grave stones struggled to
Remain upright beside the dirt road, leaning,
Mute witnesses to unholy deaths.
How many people were buried with
No commemoration in this plot of ground?
The bare bones of empty houses, with
Holes in their roofs and forgotten doors,
Intermittently stood, with modern, desirable
Houses in between.
What stories could these old homes tell,
Of master and slave, and laws forgotten
In the name of "decency", leaving
Innocent young men hanging from trees?