i took a stroll
and the southern breezes
toppled me over onto the
earthy brick walls

the air was like a cotton dress
and the names were all out of faulkner
each word said with a savory accent
that rolls on tongues
like a smirk of language

the south is very green you know
not like they'd have you think
there's beauty and comfort and heat
like a small slice of a hollywood picture
you could hold in your hand

all shoved into a dress
like miss monroe
while being showered with hospitality
(that's what they call it here i guess)
and the absence of sun makes it feel like rain

i think i am worried
it's safe to say
as i trudge up north
i'll be whistlin dixie