South

How many times have I heard
In the South they just don't work
Lazy angels spill time
And use lives as I would mine

Pouring out of windows
Like strange flags, come clean clothes
Spit-free sediment sweep dives
From broom-kept porch in no time, no time

Now the sun strips that same sidewalk
With the day-dried test of small talk
She walks quick, fresh, with clean, black crease
and navigates this mess with protected ease

Does she leave? Does she leave?
Does she come home?
Where does she sleep?

But somehow the gate's not right
A face stripped of something since last night
Can you sustain that same smile at a store or a job?
And what's such a rush that would let you be robbed?

Do you leave? Do you leave?
Do you come home?