Going Back A Spell


I grew up here, in my little town.

Up until the 7th grade, that is; when my voice cracked, hair grew in funny places and I went to town and saw my first movie on the side of the courthouse…
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I haven’t seen you, home…for nigh on 35 years, I think.

My little League field is still there but, I remember the Centerfield wall was at least a mile deeper….and the bleachers only hold tens, not thousands of fans, like I imagined.

The building I got busted for shooting spitballs at passersby out of the 2nd floor window has been boarded up and is probably haunted, now….

I wonder if that old Coca-Cola cooler is still in there…

The high school is now the middle school.
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I couldn’t even find the elementary school; all I found was a Dollar General and a Rite Aid…
Why do I feel like I’m being raped?

There is a big chicken processing plant just down the road and my down town smells like blood and guts when it’s hot and humid.
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It’s hot and humid today…It’s always like that in the hot months; March thru March.

The big, smelly chicken killing corporate entity wasn’t here when I was here as a lad. We always went to Cagles in Pine Mountain to catch the loose chickens and turn them into free range eggs and dumplings.

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Chicken killers

Nothing looks the same here; it looks so small and poor, so….southern Georgia.
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Wow, there’s Mr Teeks Liquor store; ha! He’s still got a big rebel flag hanging out front by the road and a sign on the door telling folks to pull up their pants.

Poor, Mr. Teek; he’s black and like, 1000 years old, don’t you know. I find his show of independence and liberty as a business owner offensive.

He calls me, that “Clarke boy” I say “Yessir” not nigger.

Mr Teek ain’t no nigger…
He just be, Missa Teek.
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There’s cudzu everywhere and all the cars have the patina of red clay dirt roads.

I remember my home town being so much bigger…full of wonder, people and noise.

Its been 35 years or so since I explored the darkest jungles and mysterious caves of my childhood home; a different world…full of hostile Cherokee and renegade Yankees.
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Yes, it’s different now…
It’s quiet and no one is on the streets.
Probably in the house under the AC on the computer writing a stupid blog or posting on Facebook.

Nothing to do outside, anymore, I guess. There’s trees, creeks, arrowheads and bugs and shit….

Now, for me it seems, there’s only fading memories and the smell of blood, guts and progress here….
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But oh, that’s not all.
I’m here again and I think it remembers me being smaller.

I wonder if my town feels old, too….

One thought on “Going Back A Spell”

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