You are mint and swamp-charm, but you are no storyteller.
The bones of your family’s past sigh from the cellar –
some still threaten to beat the servants.
Your apostles are rose-cheeked, high boned.
You believe the words that fall to daggers from Revelations,
then pretend Chicago is your son,
LA, your favorite idol.
Read more from Southern Man in issue thirteen of Decades Review, coming in October.