Ugly

Down yonder, if they say
you’re uglier than a mud fence,
like when your britches is cattywampus
when you come from the commode,
when you ain’t give your hair a lick
nor a promise in a coon’s age, you look
like you been chewed up and spit out, like
you been pulled backward through a knothole,
when you think you’re all gussied up, and they
say you’re uglier than homemade soap,
don’t get madder than a wet hen,
you just slap your eyes and answer back,
“don’t y’all get ugly now.”

 

Here’s a down-home pome from my old neck of the woods, chock full of overheard Southern expressions in response to today’s NaPoWriMo challenge.

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