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50 Back Home We would yield for railway signs Where roads converged Like Confederate stars Licensed between headlights Or at times whiplashing the air From Gaffney to the Low Country In a stranger’s front yard. I was a teen when I noticed Who lived in those houses And steered those cars Impaled with memories Savage enough to help drive Generations from home. Red, white, and blue crosses Screaming from jackets, shirts, caps: “The South will rise again,” “It’s a Southern thing, Y’all wouldn’t understand.” I thought maybe their ancestors had fought At Fort Sumter, or perhaps in Columbia When it burned From Federal fire to the ground. I would wonder about heritage, Slogans, gestures That needed to stalk, year after year. 51 But now, when I pass through These streets my parents call home, Streets I once cruised, I see them and feel It’s just good ol’ Southern redneck pain That fetters the mind, Restricting the tongue From transmitting the syllables, Yes, it’s true, we lost— Yes, it’s true, The War is over. ...

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