Monday, March 27, 2006

POEM: White Trash Girl

POEM: White Trash Girl

In my next life,
I'm going to marry
A white trash girl.

We'll live in a yellow trailer.
And the hot metal will reflect
the perfect Oklahoma sun.

She'll win bar fights.
She'll carry her child on her hip
While playing country music
A bit too loud out the screen door.

She'll become heated when
Conway Twitty is mentioned,
Still pissed he never made it,
Into the CMA Hall of Fame.

She'll waste money on cheap beer.
She'll worry about jeans and her rear.
She'll get tougher every year

In my next life,
I'm going to marry
A white trash girl.


At 9:06 PM, Blogger brinticus said...

Technically, Twitty was indeed initiated into the hall of fame, but it was six years after he died! During his lifetime, Conway Twitty had more #1 country records than any artist in history, and eleven of his #1 hits were self-penned. Yet they didn't vote him in until years after he dies. Any white trash girl knows, "that just ain't right."

At 9:49 PM, Anonymous woofmutt said...

When I received an invitation from Mr. Montgomery to read his poem "White Trash Girl" I was naturally hesitant. A lot of people think they know white trash well enough to discuss the subject or worse, attempt humor about white trash. Most of these people are outsiders whose sole exposure to the white trash culture was a casual observation of a four color and rust Ford pickup that passed them on the highway, its bed piled high with squabbling children. Perhaps they saw "Walk The Line" and then went and bought a Johnny Cash greatest hits collection and listened to it. Once. Or maybe at a Marie Callender's Mothers Day lunch a few years back they boldly ordered cornbread. Whatever their actual exposure they feel fully justified in commenting on the white trash culture when in fact they have most likely never set foot in a trailer, ridden in a car with brakes that require one to "step on them real hard", or even know what the description "a sad looking dog in a circle of dirt" refers to. I am not exactly sure of Mr. Montgomery's background (though I know that when he speaks he more or less sounds like a hillbilly with a large vocabulary) but I can say that this poem does not make light of white trash but rather regards them as not only an important part of this great multi-colored quilt we call America but even, in the case of the white trash girl, sees them as objects of desire. Still, what's a nice Christian boy doing talking about "my next life"?


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