Hale Woodruff
Georgia Landscape
Those Georgia Sundays
In Georgia, too, my father got up early,
wearing piss-stained boxers in the August heat,
then with yellow hands that reeked of Vantage
Ultra Light 100s, made the A/C shudder
Jesus Fucking Christ, I’d thank him
As he moaned, hacking and spitting in the john.
And when the toaster clunked, slowly
I would rise and make the sofa bed,
knowing we had no time left, yet saying
nothing to him, all the way to our weekend job
waxing floors at Southern Bell
What did I know? I knew damned well.
And even over the hum I heard death hiss
Through those austere and lonely offices.
~ Patrick Phillips ~
In Georgia, too, my father got up early,
wearing piss-stained boxers in the August heat,
then with yellow hands that reeked of Vantage
Ultra Light 100s, made the A/C shudder
Jesus Fucking Christ, I’d thank him
As he moaned, hacking and spitting in the john.
And when the toaster clunked, slowly
I would rise and make the sofa bed,
knowing we had no time left, yet saying
nothing to him, all the way to our weekend job
waxing floors at Southern Bell
What did I know? I knew damned well.
And even over the hum I heard death hiss
Through those austere and lonely offices.
~ Patrick Phillips ~
