Biscuits and Gravy

Early today I took
in gulf air. Semper
molded, wet, rebel
thick. Walking for
however long, one
senses down river,
catfish bedding in
nooks near banks.
A confederate grey
loosely fits the sky.
The south’s pain is
always needing my
support. It limps on
the peg legs of war.
Cotton fields cry on
in wounded hymns,
and the contorted
Magnolia keeps her
hoop skirt lowered.

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