it won’t be long
we sat on the front porch
and watched the grass grow green
over a kahlua and cream
and slice of moon
between sips I told her I wasn’t
going back to compete with the rats
and cockroaches in the city
they can all go to hell I said
she nodded her head
body slightly swaying while both hands
held onto her cup protectively
I don’t trust those sons-a-bitches she said
the wind shifted and blew
the coolness of otter creek into the
open air and through our bones
opening my pocket watch
I told her it won’t be long before
they tire of the city
and resume their journey
back to god’s country
april two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
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