Long time ago when a man called Goldwater was
running for president, I was walking along a road
just outside Mobile, Alabama. What I was doing
there is long forgotten but I recall having a day off
from my ship, and going from bar to bar.
I did notice that the sidewalk was weedy clearly
people did no walking. A pickup truck stopped,
three burley men wanted to give me a lift, dared
not refuse they had gun racks and armed for civil
war that steadfastly refused to appear.
They asked me about Goldwater whom I had read
about in “Newsweek” but I stated ignorance.
They drove me back to Mobile and I assured them
I loved America; gave me a six-pack, warned me
not to speak to black people and commies.
I was told they were rednecks; which I know see
as sort of countryside workers with broken cars
in the front yard. They did look like the men who
bullied and broke shop windows, own by Jewish
shopkeepers, before the last world war two.
Comments about this poem (rednecks by oskar hansen )
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