Issue 161, Spring 2002
say, Dixie-fried Cubano rednecks. It's that kind of place.
When the heavy-metal band plays "Rocky Top, Tennessee"
they all stomp and sing along—I should say we
sing along—at the annual state fair, a very weird place.
Because this is Florida, I feel like an anomaly,
but the truth of it is I'm them and they're me,
and now we're stamping and hooting all over the place
while the Texas swing band plays "Rocky Top, Tennessee"
and Haitian kids dip kettle candy beneath a live oak tree
in historic Cracker Country, apt and ironic misnomer for
because this is Florida, after all, not Texas or Tennessee.