Blue Ridge---a poem by stephen richard eng

Blue Ridge

As August melted from its sticky heat,

September watched us traveling to where

Virginia, South Carolina, both do meet:

The apple-mountains rich with grape and pear.

Her family and sister welcomed me,

Far too polite to ever seem quite real,

I drowned in country hospitality

And careful conversation at each meal.  

But underneath I felt a tense unease:

Her elder sister seemed to look through all

The harmony like some lone bird that sees

An animal below about to fail and fall,

Our mutual hatred and respect were like

The hunted for the hunter as it stalks to strike.

10-04-75