Smoke climbs the rafters
through the industrial skeletons
and out leaky, homestead roofs.
Fog hugs the ridges
where memory buries contrition,
and bells peel hollow truths.
A whistle's blow ends the night shift.
Friday lapses into Saturday.
Another Sunday happens.
Preacher Man clears his throat.
We all join in on cue.
The croaky ones,
and little ones,
the chronic coughing ones
and those flat tonal deaf.
Amazing Grace
Appalachian style
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