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Oklahoma Clay

Most evenings, right around supper,
when the sky was streaked red
right before dark, the old man
would talk of Oklahoma-

the first time he hunted squirrel,
down by Coal Creek, and how
you could usually sense the rain,
long before it actually started.

How he caught a big crappie
on the Fourth of July, and how 
it snowed that same year, first 
white Christmas he had ever seen-

he recalled finding an old graveyard,
now at the bottom of Eufaula Lake- 
whether the Corps of Engineers 
moved it or not, he couldn’t say.

Mostly he remembered;
the damp smell of red clay,
and how on real clear nights, 
he always wished on the stars

If the wishes came true
nobody will ever know,
now he’s there forever
beneath the stars 
and damp red clay.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018

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Date: 6/25/2018 10:13:00 PM
RD.. I enjoyed your dirty poem ;)
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RD McManes
Date: 6/26/2018 9:36:00 AM
Thank you.