Not Where the Heart is
Nobody here's selling crawdads out
Of a shack at the side of a busy street.
Oysters and shrimp cost an arm
And a leg, and they aren't all that fresh.
There's no gumbo, no po' boys, no red
Beans and rice, and it isn't warm here.
It's May and still cold. I have packed
Up my shorts and put back on my
Jacket. Having flown in last night,
I now wish that I hadn't. It isn't
So great to be home.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 37 times
Written on 2022-05-04 at 18:32
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