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Strange Land
by Max BouilletShhh, be very quiet.
We walk through their holy land.
Note the 4x4 tread marks.
They're close. These beer cans are freshly
crunched. And listen! The twang of the
AM radio station lingers in the air...
They see us... quick mumble indecipherably
and say goddam.
Reckonso Un huh ---Goddam!
We're safe --for the moment. We're safe. 08/06/2003 Posted on 08/06/2003
Copyright © 2026 Max Bouillet
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Agnes Eva on 08/08/03 at 05:42 PM hahah, picturing a trailer park... you give them such a dumb humanimal personality heheh |
| Posted by Mara Meade on 08/11/03 at 01:16 PM OMG!!! This is hysterical how you've juxtaposed two lifestyles... I imagine two guys in khakis, a polo shirt and loafers tip-toeing past a group of duck-hunters in the South. |
| Posted by Ken Harnisch on 08/12/03 at 04:51 PM Yee-ha...and no worries, Max..only got thirteen teeth between'em both,..:) |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 08/13/03 at 12:19 AM Glad I only visit a trailer park in Summer, and don't live in one all year round, but this still strikes pretty close to home like that twister in '97. Pass the cards and a freshy brewsky Jethro. |
| Posted by Michele Schottelkorb on 12/09/03 at 07:07 AM ROFL... ok, that's all that need be said! |
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