Sep 19
My father’s wife had some good news.
She busted out with it one sultry afternoon
in her living room while I was visiting --
hotter than blazes and humidity drippin’ off her eyelashes,
her gleeful southern drawl bubbled over
like a sizzlin’ *** of gumbo.
“I jess cain’t beleeve it”, she announced out of nowhere.
“He gave it all to me -- the money.
He gave it all to me!”
Poured it on double-thick I reckon,
before topping things off
with that wide-toothed grin of hers.
I was there in that room.
My father, too.
Didn’t know what hit me --
wasn’t sure anything had hit me …
As for my father … well … his face color
had drained out all over the carpet.
Mad as a mule chewin’ bumblebees
at his loud-mouth wife
for spillin’ the beans, like she did.
He fancied keepin’ that info chained up
like a flea-bit dog --
not runnin’ around loose in the house!
Sure as heck put a damper on his plans
to kick off on the down-low.
My father is not dead – to this day -- but
his three children are dead to him.
She’d been workin’ on him for years.
Finally staked her claim. Climbed up outta
that mine with a big ole bag of gold.
Uppity woman never had a dime – but sho ‘nuff
had a nose for one
when it came rollin’ by.
I remember the day I met her …
sittin’ in his car on our drive home from the airport.
Didn’t take her but two ticks to drop that first clue --
blurted some cranky line
about “blood meanin’ nothin” in a family.
(Her own Pa chased her off at 16
when he couldn’t stop hisself
stubbin’ out cigs on her forearm).
Mighty tough to fathom a version of myself
who woulda sat tight on a bombshell like that.
Shoulda seen it comin’ – like my brother and sister did.
The deal sealed past a decade now,
she wastes no time puttin’ lipstick on a pig --
her southern charm ditched ages ago … for silence.
As for Dad and me, our computers still talk
on Christmas and birthdays – not much
in common, uh huh.
But we both know a missus whose kid and her
are sittin’ on one thick-*** *** of you know what …
Bless her heart.
She busted out with it one sultry afternoon
in her living room while I was visiting --
hotter than blazes and humidity drippin’ off her eyelashes,
her gleeful southern drawl bubbled over
like a sizzlin’ *** of gumbo.
“I jess cain’t beleeve it”, she announced out of nowhere.
“He gave it all to me -- the money.
He gave it all to me!”
Poured it on double-thick I reckon,
before topping things off
with that wide-toothed grin of hers.
I was there in that room.
My father, too.
Didn’t know what hit me --
wasn’t sure anything had hit me …
As for my father … well … his face color
had drained out all over the carpet.
Mad as a mule chewin’ bumblebees
at his loud-mouth wife
for spillin’ the beans, like she did.
He fancied keepin’ that info chained up
like a flea-bit dog --
not runnin’ around loose in the house!
Sure as heck put a damper on his plans
to kick off on the down-low.
My father is not dead – to this day -- but
his three children are dead to him.
She’d been workin’ on him for years.
Finally staked her claim. Climbed up outta
that mine with a big ole bag of gold.
Uppity woman never had a dime – but sho ‘nuff
had a nose for one
when it came rollin’ by.
I remember the day I met her …
sittin’ in his car on our drive home from the airport.
Didn’t take her but two ticks to drop that first clue --
blurted some cranky line
about “blood meanin’ nothin” in a family.
(Her own Pa chased her off at 16
when he couldn’t stop hisself
stubbin’ out cigs on her forearm).
Mighty tough to fathom a version of myself
who woulda sat tight on a bombshell like that.
Shoulda seen it comin’ – like my brother and sister did.
The deal sealed past a decade now,
she wastes no time puttin’ lipstick on a pig --
her southern charm ditched ages ago … for silence.
As for Dad and me, our computers still talk
on Christmas and birthdays – not much
in common, uh huh.
But we both know a missus whose kid and her
are sittin’ on one thick-*** *** of you know what …
Bless her heart.
