Moving South Poem by Melanie Emikohe

Let's get married and move South,
where stereos still play the Beatles.
I'll take this old acoustic guitar
made in 1970, scruffy and out of tune.

I will strum and you will sing
as we stop by old Spanish streets
where sad people go to find a lover;
if lucky we will make some pennies.

C'mon now, while the dollar's low
so we can save a little to buy us
some mango pies at the bus station
and a tabloid to keep us entertained.

Let's leave the city and the memories
of bootless men at the sidewalks
or the friendly girls who work at night.
Here, you can fold my shirts for me.