swirling, black, miles wide
Those who were fixing to matriculate
found themselves looking down on
an empty quad, a university rising
from rubble and mud like DC by Tyber Creek
They didn't want to leave Alabama,
the chosen--so the good lord brought
The winds across Lawrence County
like he always did, but this time
flung them deep into Appalachia,
raising mountains from fire ant mounds,
Lookout and Brindlee Mountains
snowcapped or lava, circled by birds and Frenchmen,
on that broad dome a thousand springs fed Atlanta
If heaven isn't much like this I reckon I'll go back home,
that's what he said in a pickup riding
thermals with turkey buzzards
My grandfather didn't cross the county line
unless he had an invitation to sing gospel
then he'd go to Texas, Tennessee, Missouri,
Now he's seen the Sahara and the dust bowl
the way the water's coming up
Guntersville lake will reach New Orleans
and we can go duck hunting on Pontchartrain
dodge riverboats with cotton, oil slicks,
shipments of watermelons coming out of china
by Zack Fields
