Turnips in Southern Tennessee Still #poem by Michael Lee Johnson

In Tennessee, the shadows of southern
wooden structures stalled off the narrow
highway and came to an abrupt end.
Lost in the deep eyes of forest green,
closing in on night.
From the top of a Yellow Poplar
tree scares me looking down
at the hillbilly stills. Moonshine
and moonlight illu.
minate the fire stills.
Moonshine murders of the past
dead bodies hidden behind blue walls.
Mobs lie, in Chicago, bullet marks on
the right side lay dormant through plaster.
This confirms my belief that Jesus
only works part-time.
Let me look at this mirage
picture photo album
one more time—
find the turnips in the still.