“RED SILO”
Back when this whole town smelled like tobacco, back when we thought this would last forever, hell bent on swearing that we’d never let a good love go. Leave a fire behind the red silo.
Tying up clothes onto the drying line. That button up you gave me, dancing in light. Thought of all the times we tried to get it right: Hatteras and silver bells and Hickory stripes.
Back when this whole town smelled like tobacco, back when we thought this would last forever, hell bent on swearing that we’d never let a good love go. Leave a fire behind the red silo.
Bright yellow moon, by the mill, by the river. Slow dancing over whiny timbers. The record’s skipping but we don’t even hear it. Honey, our hands moving just like a mirror.
Back when this whole town smelled like tobacco, back when we thought this would last forever, hell bent on swearing that we’d never let a good love go. Leave a fire behind the red silo.
—H.C. McEntire; originally published in Lyrics as Poetry Vol. 2, 2019