Small Town Syndrome

we speak in half-truths and full silences.

Farmhouse lights flicker,

prayer-like and never quite said loud enough.

Hope there’s a mutt chained to a post, mean eyed, loyal and always

hungry.

children who are heroin-eyed and full of troubles,

retreat to the fields at dark

-smoked to stupidity

God hides in the rust of water towers,

in the peeling paint of shuttered schools

and in the crumpled bills slipped into offering plates by

hands that can’t afford to be to generous.

Some look down,

while others look away.

We don’t talk much in this town.

- AMELIE VILE

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