"Somewhere in Alabama" by John Grey

Somewhere in Alabama

It was a Summer’s day,
air thick as the sins of man,
sweat settled on my face
like folks at a revival meeting,
and the swamp on all sides
was a murky replication
of the Great Flood.

I was driving through the Old Testament,
lots of eye for an eye
but no forgiveness in sight,
just a dreary-looking motel,
perfect for a dreary-feeling man
too long behind the wheel.

Guy at the desk looked at me suspiciously
though he rented me the room anyhow.
I had a suitcase with me
but his eyes caught me out
on my lack of hallelujahs.

It was afternoon but I flopped on the bed anyhow.
The air-conditioner complained like a Pharisee.
The sign on the wall was from Genesis.
“I will kill both man and beast.”

I slept fitfully, ate what tasted like
the remains of an old offering,
and left the next morning.
I crawled through Numbers.
Deuteronomy lay straight ahead.

The sun’s fires tormented and punished.
The devil poked my red flesh with his fork.
I was on my way north.
But how do you convince hell
that you’re only passing through?

John Grey

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Sheepshead Review, Stand, Poetry Salzburg Review and Ellipsis…Literature and Art. His latest books, Covert, Memory Outside The Head, and Guest Of Myself, are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Washington Square Review and Red Weather.

Headshot: Gale Grey

Photo Credit: Staff