
It Might’ve Been Florida But It Wasn’t
There was a time when gossip never
traveled beyond the town limits,
and what was published as news
was already known. You might’ve
staggered around in extreme heat
and humidity as if drunk. Always,
summer was a fun-run-carnival
until the middle of September.
And scandals, they’d lie hard and
long below white cotton sheets,
and girls chased rainbowed-spray
from chattering sprinklers that
sounded like furious squirrels.
And come July, we unified as one
under the name of God and Jesus
for the annual church picnic, and
that was what we called growing-up,
and grownups called it The Cold War.
For Sunday Whirl #502, image public domain WikiArt “February“, 1940, by Grant Wood. Shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter ©Misky 2021
9 responses to “for The Sunday Whirl #502”
A super slice of nostalgia with a clever twist at the end.
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Thank you!
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Times sure have changed haven’t they. Wonderful poem, Misky.
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Thanks ☺️
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You’re welcome.
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Love the whispers, rumors with borders, and the way things felt before the internet, really. Enjoyed.
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Thank you!
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Why am I let thinking about David Lynch – which, by the way, is a very good thing in my mind.
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Thanks! I like Lynch, too.
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