Fred was lanky and tall.
Mean, too
some said.
A farmer.
He didn't read, but requested
King James scripture nightly.
Every morning
I'd find him piling
small dark rocks of coal
inside the protruding dusty
pot belly warming his room.
Rumor was Fred once got mad
over border lines and fences
and threw a neighbor down a well,
but I didn't know him as mean,
or as a man
of murder.
I knew Fred as a hand in mine
walking two miles daily,
jumping checkers
'cross planks with cronies
along an old store porch.
I knew him as a coffee-saucer
lip-groping slurping elder
who every morning
alternately dipped soft biscuits into
Maggie's red eye gravy and
thick blackstrap molasses.
I knew him as a groaner,
who in 1969
would not use a modern bathroom
but walked a rapid
path ten yards out and down
a hill for a few hours of relief.
I knew him as a old man
who'd rather rest a bending
hundred-year-old body
among shade trees than
to recline within
the house.
He blended there
six-foot-five in
blue faded Osh-Kosh,
and brown, heavy clodhoppers.
When I'd approach
he'd scratch his hoary head
and pull a soft stick
of peppermint
out from where he'd tucked
his watch fob
asking,
Sis, would you make me
a chocolate Sealtest milkshake?
Would you put an egg in it?
Scupper ©2009,
fotosearch photo
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Comments
Rated.
Marcela
This piece is brimming with beautiful sense provoking imagery, romantic nostalgia, and heartfelt respect. Thanks for posting it.
Rated.
R~
Rated.
I had a neighbor when I was growing up in Oklahoma. He was Colonel Sanders' identical twin, down to the mustache, goatee, glasses and white pants and jacket. He even wore a straw panama hat every minute he was outdoors.
I met him when I was 6 and when I left town at 19, he was still alive. We became good friends, sitting on the porch, just listening to the birds sing and the cicadas buzz. At 80, he could outwork me at 19 on his farm.
I miss that old guy more than anyone I knew when I was a kid. I later found out that he was a sheriff somewhere in Oklahoma when he was young and had quite a colorful past.
He never mentioned it to me once. Amazing how the old folks keep things to themselves.
Rated
Rated
-R-
You write:`
"I knew him as a groaner
who, in 1969
would not use a modern bathroom
but walked a rapid path
ten yards out and down
a hill for a few hours of relief.
`
You knew him as a old man.
on and on. You paint a picture.
Your fun to read a third time.
A few hours of relief? bogging?
In 1969 everyone wore Osh-Kosh.
No one had indoor flush Springs.
He scrub? Wash teeth and pants?
He sat on a pot and smoked Kool?
I'll never wash my dish anymore.
I walk to the porch edge to flops.
Love fades. Why walk to the pot?
Go leak in the barnyard? Behave?
I get your gist scupper. You lovers!
Ya deserve men with brick crapper!
Ya need a dish washer to cook soup!
Leek soup? From The White House!
Ya no need indoor Springs. Sit is pew.
Pew. Sit and stoop under a plum tree.
Brown leaves are soft as newspapers.
Scupper. You forgive me a third time?
stooped. tease. warped mind. behave.
what Ya planting? barn compost stuff?
Ya are observant! Ya are eyes, a heart,
our helper to hear, think, and to pause.
Rated
Monte