My Hometown Has an Insatiable Appetite

Every year

I stare it down

perched on the tip of its tar tongue

that snakes across the earth beneath my tyres.

It's eaten entire generations

but it’s never satiated

always on the hunt for another youth to turn gaunt-faced

another teen pregnancy to keep stored in its pantry

'til crow's feet grow and teeth yellow

and the next batch of meat is born.

And it holds my parents captive

so every year

I take the bait

and let it swallow me down again.

Down past the fields of sugarcane that line its throat

and past the townsfolk

not farmers but livestock.

Down past the school where I learned about shame

and down past the church where this place tries to digest

pieces of people like you and I.

And every year

you hold my hand across the console

as yellowed eyes stare

and poisonous words are spat

from half-digested people.

But every year

you unteach the lessons this place taught me

a crooked youth in a straight-laced town.

So when its hungry arms draw us in

and it licks the salt from my cheeks where tears once streamed

I watch it

expecting to taste regret in my bones

and laugh when it chokes on the sweetness

I’ve found with you instead.