​An Appalachian Angst
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​An Appalachian Angst

Poetry by Lucy Ensign

​An Appalachian Angst

An Appalachian Angst

Saturday came in like a vision from the western wind,

It's a spring Saturday night in Appalachia, indeed.

Not a cloud in the sky, the morning shift filled with hard work and good ole appalachian angst

Then, catching up with an old friend, telling me stories from her college town,

Although she has more money, I think she has that appalachian angst too.

The coolness of the Alabama spring air kinda reminds me of youth

At the fair, I hold hands with my date, whose golden brown hair and hazel eyes remind me of

My childhood crush out west, both boy's subtle awkwardness cut the muggy air like a blade.

I wonder how he's doing? I think they both have a little appalachian angst.

Life builds and youth changes, like the mega drop at the Alabama fair,

Until one day you realize your age and everything falls suddenly.

So after the fair, we drive to the Montevallo farm,

Picking up the best friend who had a little to drink, a little to smoke,

She tells me stories of her night of appalachian angst

After we got milkshakes and drove home, somehow date one turned into date two,

Back to that tornado town north of the city into the basement with the rebel flag

The Appalachian angst seemed to take hold of them too, as the bottles cover the basement

So we pile in my car with the "don't tread on me" sticker and rosary dangling

To our hometown to the gas station, that doesn't card young and pretty girls

Then, a momentary feeling of freedom and limitlessness buying the sins for that night

The appalachian angst grows and grows,

While trying to block the love-filled noises behind the garage door,

Talking with those boys, good friends with loose ends, I love that we can come as we are

Sweet tea flows all over the basement in that Alabama valley, so

We go back to talking and all of us humming the chorus of the universal sound

As I wait in the garage with a John Deere mow,

Kissing my country boy while sitting on the basement washing machine,

He holds me so close with those appalachian calloused hands and

His metal belt buckle making my thigh so cold,

I hate to see this Appalachian angst go, I wouldn't want to leave it if I tried.

We leave the house at 3:45 and drive through the darkness

Discussing the lies we must tell to make it seem wholesome, we laugh

Oh God, this appalachian angst is so sweet.

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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.
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