And all that razzmatazz. Thanks for reading. Here's the final poem in my memory-tastic series of Charleston Times.
music on the pavement and all I ever
had in
the ability to hate it.
was it palm trees or beaches?
the
makeup running down
the lane,
the revamp of
away from
such humble dirty
tricks and dangers.
I had a crummy apartment with
a good girl in
the heart of a ghetto puking its guts out.
and the city was mud, it was cobblestone,
it was the horses marching around
for tourists and their
wedded happy cousins.
I had nothing,
knew, and I was going to die there,
and school was a fluke,
and I was just a kid, and the street
was brazen, and the only friends I ever
made sat there on the beach lighting
fireworks, and yes
of course I fell in love there
all the time
.
so I left. so I left
and it told me to leave
and it said no southern son and it waved palm fronds
and I left in a beat up truck just in time
before all heaven set with the sun
on the last
day
.
3 comments:
wow. this is the best one yet.
i like the palm fronds waving.
PS I was talking with a friend from Charleston last night who lives here in NoVa, and another of her friends who lived there also, and we all decided that you can't go back to Charleston. There is nothing left for anyone there. I think we took all that it had to give us.
Is this Nick or Ryan?
That's the one and only Nick East.
Post a Comment