Four Doored Damnation

He yelled about the Devil
and preached damnation
in my southern childhood town.

Brown canvas tented off the Dipper
while swooning souls bought salvation,
bartered with silvered coin.

We crawled through unblessed sand
to pile limp hay and heathen weeds
into his darkened four door sedan,

all to hear him scream
'God damn' one last time
after the revival ended
and the tent poles came down.

Pris Campbell
(c)2002

Accepted for publication in The Dead Mule,
an Anthology of Southern Literature, Spring, 2003.

Music: Are You Washed In The Blood

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