he's from Richmond,
a mere
hundred miles from
ground zero,
and yet his syrupy
accent
denotes the deep
south, the civil
war south.
Dixieland with
bars and stripes,
front porch ice tea.
cotton and tobacco fields.
he elongates each word,
using phrases
you once heard in movies
like gone with the wind.
when you laugh a little,
you almost expect
him to pull out a sword
or to slap you with
a glove
asking you to duel,
in a one shot turn and fire
gun fight, but no sir,
no,
he's too polite.
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