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Array
(
[sid] => 54567
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => A Small Town
[time] => 2004-07-02 18:44:04
[hometext] => I've had quite reaction to my comments on another piece in this genre. This submission is to simply to show I've been there.
[bodytext] => a small town on a sideroad a mile from the tracks two storey assortments a hamburger joint its screen door fronting on a broken sidewalk hot barefoot-hurtin hot smell of cooking grease desultory looks of a waitress who would rather work at the other restaurant just outside of town the small one air conditioned with better tips but this town is here and now a mistake reaching for a future and a reason for being the site remembered only for some grisly rural crime by the town s deputy mayor who was so good with children lived with his mother dear mrs what s her name who had buried three husbands and two sets of dentures before passing on leaving her over weight son the house they d lived in all their lives filled with memory ghosts that stalked the upstairs hall sometimes even seen on hot sweaty summer nights when the air lay thick as syrup and unbreathable police said it was a shame there were six bodies in the crawlspace they couldn t name teenagers boys the deputy mayor had killed over the six years since his mother had died the town talks still the house lies unsold no one will buy city folk only pass without stopping it lies empty behind the variety store its magazine stand crowded with pornography half hidden by panelling folk there remember the deputy mayor he had dressed as a clown during centennial celebrations at the community centre doing balloon tricks for the farmer s kids orange hair extended feet makeup red nose now they share morbid speculations about their children what could have happened how old mrs what s her name was so disliked repeating that as if repetition made it true how she seemed a little queer her son so done by to have survived three fathers before he was sixteen he never spoke at the trial in town stood in the dock he did distant opaque still as a headstone ankles and wrists bound by small chains they say he never spoke ever even to his attorney never to anyone but what words i wondered passed beneath his balding head when he heard the crown convict him or when the papers said he was fond of women s shoes and pantyhose and later wrote he had strangled himself with his own underwear one august night in solitary kids tease now challenge each other to stand nearer the house on sweaty summer nights when crickets choir up to the porch over the crawlspace to the door inside even some say there is a funny smell still that screams are heard during summer storms and dull shapes pace the lightless upstairs hall disturbing dust and small rodents when you pass by us think on this history of good folk hard working men and women their children with too much time by the steps of the old post office when summer nights simmer smelling faintly sweet [comments] => 1 [counter] => 179 [topic] => 13 [informant] => bj111 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 4 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DarkPoetry )
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