My Hometown

Down in the western
tip of the state,

where tobacco's stripped
and marijuana's smoked,

lies a town--
with ears like Dumbo

and a mouth
that never closes--

being slowly swallowed
by the mighty Mississippi.

It's where people
don't lock their doors

because their neighbor
still lends them

a cup of sugar
without hesitation.

And at exactly
six o'clock p.m.

the sleepy-eyed town
puts on its pajamas

and crawls
slowly into bed,

not waking again
until exactly six o'clock a.m.