Hush now, dog!
There’s nothin’ on the front
porch but an empty chair
rockin’ in the rain spatter
drippin’ off the roof. Thunder’s
rappin’ an a-rollin’ and lightenin’s
doin’ the stanky leg ‘cross the
sky – yeah, it’s loud enough to
wake the dead but they best
stay sleepin’ lest they
float away.
I hear my gran’s twiggs county twang all through this poem. in other words. you created a voice in this piece! made me smile today :)
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I love that, SM! I tapped into my Mississippi roots on this one.
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