By Susan Willey Spalt
Essentially, the Piedmont is the roots of an ancient coastal mountain chain that is now worn down to low relief. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Piedmont_(United_States)
Under the gently sloping
Streets of Carrboro
Lies a secret:
The remains
of ancient mountains, once taller
Than the Himalayas
Slowly worn away
By time, until they are just
Carrboro rocks.
Laying pipe in Carrboro
Leads to the clank
Of heavy equipment
Soon to be worn out by
Carrboro rocks.
Just across the tracks
From a great and loved university,
A small town sits in a Carolina blue shadow,
Trying not to be smug, knowing the secret:
Carrboro rocks!
Summer in the farmers market,
Tomatoes, sweet corn,
Flowers explode with so much color
Even the rainbows are jealous.
Friends gather and talk
Of cooking tomatoes, growing flowers
Changing weather, changing lives
With a spirit solid as:
Carrboro Rocks.
Young children at a park
Sit next to the swings and seesaws
Their laughter and their shouts
Echo into the future.
A child picks up a rock
To throw at an imaginary target.
The necessary grown-up calls to him,
Do not throw:
Carrboro Rocks.
A band is playing
On the lawn at Weaver Street
Young people dance with hula hoops,
Their grace is astonishing.
Some in the audience rummage around for comparisons
Paris? Seattle? But,
Carrboro is the Carrboro of the Piedmont,
Of the South, and
Carrboro Rocks!
While in the background
Unsuspecting workman begin to dig
Clanking in 3/4 time,
It is summer, and
Carrboro Rocks!