South

How many times have I heard

In the South they just don't work

Lazy angels spill time

And use lives as I would mine

Pouring out of windows

Like strange flags, come clean clothes

Spit-free sediment sweep dives

From broom-kept porch in no time, no time

Now the sun strips that same sidewalk

With the day-dried test of small talk

She walks quick, fresh, with clean, black crease

And navigates this mess with protected ease

Does she leave? Does she leave?

Does she come home?

Where does she sleep?

But somehow the gate's not right

A face stripped of something since last night

Can you sustain that same smile at a store or a job?

And what's such a rush that would let you be robbed?

Do you leave? Do you leave?

Do you come home?