I still can't get it right

I don't know.  I still can't get it right,

the way those dirt roads cut across the flats

and led to shakes where hounds and muddy

shoats 

skulked roundabouts.  Describing it sounds trite

as hell, the good old South I love to hate.

The truth?  What's that?  How should I know?

I stayed inside too much.  I learned to boast

of stupid things.  I kept my ears shut tight,

as we kept doors locked, windows locked,

the curtains drawn.  Now I know why.

The dark could hide things from us.  Dark could 

see

what we could not.  Sometimes those dirt roads

shocked

me, where they ended up:  I watched a dog die

in the ditch.  The man who shot him winked at 

me.

~Kathryn Stripling Byer