Screen Call
John Clare Stokes
Sunday nights we would sit out
on the porch listening to the
drums of New Mt Zion thinking
it sounded as the Waziri in the
Tarzan movie and we would
shiver in the Sopchoppy heat.
Eventually the tribe would
disperse, and mamma would
tuck us in early for school day
We were timid to venture the
next afternoon across the field
in the direction of Zion, fearing
the hungry cannibals lurking.
We never ventured too far from
sparse back porch, where we
knew when time came, mamma
would call us home, safe from
the drummers of New Mt Zion
ever waiting to carry us beyond
the call of mamma and Tarzan.
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