Old Familiar Town

By Carla   

Tracing old familiar paths
In an old familiar town...
Ghostly words nip at my ears...
Little, gentle ladies
Hold their hands to their faces
And whisper long-forgotten truths.
"They say her daddy ran moonshine down
The Georgia coast, past the old broken mill."
Rumored to have a... still... out past the cotton,
On the Wade Plantation.
Where men who didn't make enough
Nursed their dark fears with clear "shine"
by the light of the moon.

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This Poems Story

In the South many men supplemented a meager income with making moonshine. The ones who also drank it often were "self-medicating" themselves. No money for a real doctor.