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Ode to Alabama

Poetry By: Patri Poe

Before I moved to Alabama for a summer, I received lots of "information" on what the south was like. Nothing could have been farther from the truth. Alabama was beautiful and the people, I realized, not so different. Of course, I missed my friends back home, but enjoyed my time in Alabama. I thought it would be fun to write a poem about the southern stereotypes that exist.

Submitted:Feb 2, 2013    Reads: 92    Comments: 7    Likes: 4   

Ode to Alabama

I moved to Alabama in the summer of '94.

My family was the envy because our outhouse had a door.

A neighbor came to welcome us (he only had three teeth).

He said, "I brung a freth baked pothum pie, ya'll want a peeth?"

I quickly thanked him for the pie and turned around to go.

He said "My boy'll take ya froggin' later. Hith name ith Bobby Joe."

Another neighbor stopped by to introduce himself,

His eyes were slightly crossed, ears pointy like an elf.

I told him we were really busy getting settled in.

He grabbed a bottle from his pants and took a swig of gin.

"My great great grampy settled here to make a betta life.

My girl lives ova yonda, she my brotha's wife."

I didn't want to ask, this was no business of mine.

He gave me the recipe for his granny's "secret shine".

That night I saw a costume party in the field across the street.

I thought that I would join them, but I had to find a sheet.

Their sheets were all white, but mine would have to do,

It was red and white striped with stars that were navy blue.

So I headed to that costume party for surely there'd be beer!

Someone in the crowd yelled out, "Thars a yankee here!"

They all just stared in silence and I didn't know what to do.

I said "I like your big wooden cross. I'm a Catholic too!"

The silence finally broke when the littlest ghost said,

"Ya hear that Pa?" "Yup, She's a Catholic, Jed."

Something was familiar about those pointy hoods they wore.

I knew that I had seen these costumes somewhere once before.

And when it finally hit me, I turned around and ran,

Nearly knocking over the Grand Dragon of that Klan.

The days turned into weeks and things were lookin' up.

I learned to work a still and I started sayin' "yup".

I eat them possum pies and a gun I'm always packin',

But I feel as if there's one thing in life that I'm still lackin'.

I miss the sights and sounds of the place that I call home,

A place where pollution and meth labs are safely free to roam.

"Sweet Home Alabama" is what the song might say,

But give me good ole St. Louis any cotton pickin' day!


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