Antebellum Verandas
Aug 4 2010


I pulled over
to ask for directions.
The tinted glass hissed open
to a blast of sweltering air.

She spoke slowly
in a soft Southern drawl,
where each vowel takes 2 syllables
and even the consonants are long
— like peanut butter
stuck to the roof of your mouth.
As if that famous Southern hospitality
extended to words, as well,
generously turning him
into hiyim,
luxuriating on sleeping doawwgs.

I thought of antebellum verandas,
flushed women
fanning themselves.
And respectable girls
at quadrilles and waltzes
and debutante balls.
And a southern belle, in crinoline
feasting her eyes on the help
— big black men
glistening with sweat
bent over fields of cotton.

. . . But this tale is modern,
and this debutante
6 months along,
in flip-flops, capris
a tank top from Wal-Mart,
bright pink lipstick
flaking off.

Her directions
got me lost.
But still, my knees go soft
at a girl with a Southern drawl.
Even an over-ripe peach
on the hot back-roads of Georgia.