at some back roads flea market
that's only back roads to you
but a main thoroughfare to locals
whom you've never seen
all their oldies but goodies
barely sorted into empty boxes
and milk crates
and scattered across cheap plastic
banquet tables underneath
back yard pop-ups
the great american dirty southern
flea market
actual antiques and implements
of useful life from back when shit got made
with metal or wood but also
a bunch of useless shit piled in
many decades of american empire
prevalence of having shit
all which got left behind
and brought here together
in this holy trinity of the post modern
american experience
poverty
necessity
and time
the time to wander slowly down
aisles built mutually
actual community
time to dig through the shit that looks good
or worth your while
coming out of it all with
a bunch of kitchen utensils
including a fat skimmer your ex wife kept
plus an empty kitty litter tub
full of 45s mostly old country hits
but also some bluegrass and gospel
including long distant cousins
allegedly
according to your dead dad
who you think of lovingly
as you look at the glass bowls
which is longhaired redneck slang
for weed pipes
the swirling colors inside the glass
like marbles you lost in the backyard
back in the day
back in the far corner
of the late american empire
digging through displays
of better than nothing
at the big ass
flea market
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