by Wick Fields
I'm not terribly well bred
My family, both sides, were just folks
They worked the fields of Georgia
Sold moonshine up by Rabun Gap
Just people who survived, not much more.
Mom's people came over from Belfast
Settled in Appalachia with their thick Irish brogues.
Played fiddles and stormed Normandy
Saw dead eyes roll back there
That's before the hedgerows, which were even
worse -- slaughter grounds.
All just to survive, to sit on a porch
Waiting for Christ.