The World Under That Rock

I crawled out from hills of buttermilk biscuits
Not cookies, bloke
Like a plain scone but
Scallion, cheddar, bacon, pulmonary
Not plain at all

From storytellers,
Singers who hopscotch the world
And teachers who point it out to you
Rich, infirm geezer hands– finger foods
All lined up, a vast buffet
A tactile display

Bumping through dark corridors
Where we laugh
At the absurdity of having built
And named
Something called The Dark Corridor
Until we find the light
That grants us breath once more

From the birthplace of shimmy
Because within these hollers
Someone could easily be named Shimmy
But trust in the fact that
He could cut a rug
And set fire to your home
In the process

The peaks of Winston,
North Carolina
Home of big tobacco,
Hanes undergarments, Krispy Kreme
And the late Maya Angelou
Each bit granted
And upheld as Gospel

rtpicRicky Tucker is a North Carolina native, fiction writer, editor and art critic. His work often explores the imprints of art on narrative, and how form bends contents. He is the former editor-in-chief and art editor of 12th Street Journal and has contributed to New England art journal Big Red and Shiny, fashion and culture site Ironing Board Collective, and most recently The Paris Review DailyHe received his B.A. from The New School as a Riggio: Writing and Democracy scholar, and is currently completing a writing/teaching M.A. at Goldsmiths, University of London.  

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