The South

Bubblegum popping,
         accent drawling.
Tobacco chewing,
         sidewalk spitting.
Rusty pickup trucks
         mangy mutts in the back
         shotgun in the rack.
Ignorant sneer,
         Gap-toothed leer.
Dirty hands and foul mouth,
Dear God, do I hate the South!

And then . . .

Southern girl, means no harm,
         Gentle, polite, full of charm.
Voice soft and low,
         Southern speaks slow.
Cut-off shorts, pony-tailed hair
         long legs and painted toes
         laughing like she knows.
Now she takes my arm,
         she’s sweet and warm.
Starry eyes and full-lipped mouth,
Oh Lord, I’m falling for the South!

Now . . .

My Yankee self with a Southern belle?
         Guess the North can go to Hell.
Northern girls are too uptight,
         here the South’s treating me right.
Life slowed down so we can enjoy
         barbecue and sweet iced tea
         just my honey and me.
What was that? Did I say “Ya’ll”?
         I’m turning Southern after all.
Shocked, staring at my traitor mouth,
“Thank you, God, for I love the South!”