A Satire in Couplets in the East Texas Vernacular of My Youth
For (and with) my cousin Red Dog
and in memory of Johnny, my Dad
“Poetry, schmoetry,” the poet Richard Wilbur
quotes one of [his fellow WW2 recruits’] saying, though he adds
that he had “warm and amusing relationships with
almost everyone, partly because,
mostly country Texans, they were enjoyers
of words — good storytellers and inventive cussers”.
1 – Subject to the Urge
Virgil and me set off to Sparks City.
Ain’t much of one, just an itty-bitty
Bump on the road. The pit-stops in between
Also leave much to be desired. You’ve seen
Them, the most you can say is you’ve been
There. Not remotely a sightseeing spin
Through some piney woods, as I explained
To the two fat cats who’d had the hare-brained
Idea of joining our expedition.
They had bankrolled our operation,
Claimed that lent the inalienable right
To accompany us. Try as I might
I could not dissuade them from it.
Now Virg,
Since his tender youth subject to the Urge
And not as vestal as his name implies,
Was practiced, by hook or crook or simple lies,
At relieving others of the sorry state
Of chastity, himself as pretty-boy bait.
So he had a number of things that clouded
His mind, which, unless too much crowded
In or jumped the queue, worked fine, though ran
Into trouble when issues grew to more than
two.
The buds, no longer hibernating,
Tired of dreary hivernal waiting,
Were burstin’ through their waxy jackets.
Glorious Spring with its wafting packets
Of aroma was here! As always with life,
Beneficent distractions were rife.
Indian paintbrushes suddenly unclad,
The ladies, even those who don’t gad
About, were doing their damndest to show well.
Such adversity can drive a man to quell
His thoughts with hard liquor, keeping them few
And in neat manageable rows, in lieu
Of scattered, stray and ubiquitous.
So, wisely, I’d packed a ridiculous
Number of pint hip flasks of Jim Beam,
Plus extra baggies of the weed our scheme
Was to turn a profit on. We hid the blocks
Of shit in the pickup truck’s locked tool box.
I’ll tell you why we took the back route
We did. Our Partners in crime were not about
To let us abscond, so among the pretexts
They came up with was to see some rednecks
In the raw. You’d’a thunk a mirror would-a
Sufficed, but that takes us into the could-a
Beens
So I slammed it to the springs over miles
Of broken asphalt, past ramshackle piles
Of rundown shacks in the woods. Got somewhere
You could damn well do what you please. I swear
The whole place was run by rednecks.
But two
Rooms left in the motel, so we made do.
Called the Poker House Motel (hardy-har!),
A name not at all strange or bizarre
Since there was catty corner a strip club.
I wanted a drink and to get some grub,
Virg, to see hisself ladies au naturel.
The Partners sharing his taste, I fell
Into line. Besides, it was purty hot.
So we toked up, crossed the parking lot
And plunged gratefully into a chill blast
Of a/c.
Inside was the usual cast
Of near nudes sitting in phosphorescent
Light, waiting impatiently for a gent,
Nonchalantly flicking off ashes
Into the dark, batting fake eyelashes
At any male near. The main event was on
The floor, where two ol’ boys, cuesticks drawn
What looked like menacin’ly, were in noisy
Disputation. Y’all know how bad boys be.
Both suffered noticeably from lack of blood
In their alcohol streams.
Who was gonna stud
That dirty blond standing there in the corner
Watching the game like a mourner
At her own funeral? “Dirty” here refers
To the color of her hair. Bear that in mind, voyeurs!
Paid to ward off untoward, uncompensated
Attention toward the ladies, the bouncer hated
Brawls. He was at first alarmed but then relieved
When one ol’ boy, apparently the one aggrieved,
Invited the other to step outside alone,
Jurisdiction different from the bouncer’s own.
The Partners, who could not hide their delight
At the prospect of a bloody fight,
Excused themselves as if to take a leak,
Then headed out to take a quick peak.
Always leery of stray gunshot I stayed
inside. Virg, hopin’ to get good and laid,
Had anyways not gotten past the wenches,
Arrested by whatever potentially quenches
His thirst.
That was some powerful shit
We had. I got lost in the thick of it
All, caught up in what was flickering
On the TV screen, and then considering
The pithy words of a HubCap Brown
Song on the jukebox giving the low-down
On Homer, his brother. At first didn’t notice Virg
Was gone. No doubt jess pursuing his urge,
I thought when I did. But then the ol’ boys
Came back with the Partners, making noise
Like good business friends just wrapping
Up a deal, buddy-buddy back-slapping,
The female catalyst of what was not
A brawl but a bargain she was bought
And sold in also was missin’ in action.
Could only guess the grit of that transaction.
We closed the place down, me the last one out.
The door to our room was locked: Virg no doubt
Was in there and he had the key. I had half
A mind to pound away. Good for a laugh.
But I got it that more than a mere roll
In the hay, something beyond control,
Was going on. I stumbled to the truck,
Fell hard asleep in the cab.
“Johnny! Fuck !”
First sounds I heard at dawn. Virg was shaking
My shoulder, hand cupped on my mouth, waking
Me up. Behind him the dirty blond who, closer-
Up, had a lazy left eye. Anyone who knows her
Would allow she was not much of a looker,
Not at least a brazen big-boobed hooker.
But every bodily part was brand spanking new,
Waiting to be wore plumb out. Bea, as in bumble,
Was her name, Beatrice in less humble
Guise.
“Johnny, we gotta get outa here”,
Whispered with more than a trace of fear.
His shirt was inside out, like he’d pulled clothes on
In a mighty hurry.
White knight Virg had chosen
Beatrice as a damsel in distress,
Dragging us both into what became a mess,
As y’all’ll shortly hear. She’d at least got dressed.
Right, with a white halter covering her pert breasts
And jeans, from which I thought to avert
my eyes. This Bea was not trying to flirt.
She’d had some problems at home, not hard
To figure what they were. She’d hit the road,
Which had hit back. She was now in the charge
Of those ol’ boys, who had some kind of at-large
Job for her further on, offer she had no way
Politely to decline. We all try to run away,
Sometimes too soon. Once you start to run
It’s powerful hard to stop. Now she needed someone
To elope with. Why not Virg?
But the Chevy
Was mine. I had those keys, now jangling heavy
In my pants.
“Hold your horses, Virg. Forget
About them pricks. Worse would be those dead set
On tracking us down, if we vamoose
With the shit — our Partners. There’d be no truce.”
Bea’d got him in the sack, easy enough
To do, then turned on the sweet sob stuff.
She was, so Virg learned, in dire straits.
The ol’ boy Pimps sold her t’our associates,
Though he’d been picked for the first test drive.
She musta used any trick she could contrive,
Then turned on the charm. Like lovers do
On more than one-night stands, she breezed through
Her story how she liked it told. A whole passel
Of folks were hot on her tail, each a hassle
Different from the other: Father,
Brother, the Law. The twisted plot got rather
Fuzzy but the drift was: Bea had a friend
In Sparks she trusted, who would take her in.
This Bea had sump’un drew me to her side,
Though a voice warned me, stay clear-eyed:
Virg was a door for me to hold open
For just the while she barged through. Unspoken
Was that the damn’d thing would then slam shut
For good.
We all know that feeling in our gut.
I usta could fall in love, took the tumble
Many times, saw so many dreams crumble
That I get nervous going up where I might slip.
Who am I to say? Someone wants to skinny-dip
With alligators, that’s their personal choice,
Jess them listening to their inner voice.
Like Virg was, Virg who was my bro.
So he was right, we had to go, and go
Quick. I put the pick-up in neutral gear,
The door open so’s I could hop in once clear,
We pushed her cross the empty parking lot,
Clambered in, coasted out of earshot.
I hit the switch. Thus began our odyssey.
For which I utter no apology.
2 – Moon Woman
We high-tailed it like bats out-a hell.
Burma shave signs, which Virg liked to spell
Out one by one, flashed by so quick
He couldn’t keep up. He got a kick
Reading these road signs – ’bout the only thing
He did read. Loving rhymes, he’d sing
Lines like: A man, a miss, a car, a curve.
He kissed the miss, and missed the curve.
Or: He saw the train, tried to duck it,
First kicked the gas, and then the bucket.
Despite that advice, I kept it floorboarded,
I didn’t look back, even when Bea accorded
Her white knight some intimacy, the two
Of them climbing over, as if on cue,
Into the cubby hole. Nor was I gonna
Stop. Our dope, the aromatic marijuana
In the toolbox, was exceptionally fine,
Hydroponically-grown. Those swine,
The Partners plus their new partners, the Pimps,
Were likely hot on our tail. Not a glimpse
Of the buggers yet. But there would be,
Because, besides the shit, we had Bea.
I had a road map we’d brung along, sought
Out the least obvious path to some spot
Where we could hole up, not some dead-end trap.
Found a road that dwindled right off the map.
We weren’t goin’ anywhere on it, just fast,
And there was nothin’ nowhere. Breakfast
Was but a dream of food gnawing at my guts.
Asphalt soon gave out to gravel and ruts.
Then a storm brew’d up, the sky grew dark,
Then split in half. I pulled over to park
And wait out a deluge the likes a-which
I never seen. Once Virg had had his itch
Scratched, him and Bea crawled back up front. Rain
Poured down, fogging up the windshield pane.
A Texas turd-floater, enough to strangle
Frogs!
But suddenly my nerves went all a-jangle
Cause Bea was sittin’ between us, her flesh
Brushing up like accident’ly, moist and fresh
Against my shoulder. She smelled mighty good.
Virg had a beat-up old eight-track he would
Play HubCap Brown’s “I’d Go to Jail for You”
On, though I begged him pretty please not to.
He got it out of the glove compartment, where
He’d moved the gun, the sight of which didn’t scare
Bea at all. He slid it in, then made up
his own mournful words to the tune, played up
To Bea, croonin’ at her: “I’ll shut my eyes
When I get there, thinking of your … uh … thighs.”
Not HubCap’s words, but Virg had done his time,
Knew that in the pen, whatever your crime,
Whenever they can, they do it to you.
Up to you to figure out how to do
It back again to them. Bea wasn’t quite jail
Bait, plenty old enough to act female,
Just enough to do so legally. Even
Out here in the sticks, folks don’t believe in
Poaching on the young — lessun you’re related.
After a while the sky cleared, the storm abatted.
We drove till we got to a broken-down gate.
A piece behind: a trailer, whose weight
Sat on concrete blocks, surrounded by shacks.
All around was rusty junk and knick-knacks,
Plus, on the porch, a geezer, a crusty coot
On a rocking chair, shabby and hirsute
With round spectacles and a scraggly beard.
He looked us over good, stood up, peered
Into the cab, then almost had a hissy fit,
Said, like to long-lost fam’ly, “Howdy, d’jeet yet?”
He sat us right down, went for a mess
Of bacon and beans, homemade bread and, yes,
A clay crock of the best, mellowest moonshine
Served up in Mason jars among the pine
Trees in his cluttered yard. Homer, his name,
Didn’t think much of folks. Most folks thought the same
Of him. S’why he lived way out here, his best
Friends, pythons, kept in barrels, not in jest
He claimed. Them and the cat he’d let out to play
At night. “She keeps the pole cats away.
Personally, I sorta like their smell. She dudn’t.
She’s pretty picky, she don’t like the scent
Of nobody but me.”
Now humankind,
When he had music to play, Homer didn’t mind.
Cuz that’s what music’s for, to share. Whiskey,
Weed too. Anything that makes us frisky.
Bea herself didn’t care much for hootch
And preferred to our stuff what Homer had a patch
Of back in a plot hidden in the trees
where the sun shined jess right.
Trying to please,
We offered Homer some of ours, but he balked:
“Affects me when I gotta play, I get blocked,
Not like with Johnny Corn, which is my drug
Of choice.” Shootin’ the shit, we finished the jug,
Polished off the beans with crusts of bread.
And without a thought to what might lie ahead
We heard Homer on his ax strum a chord or two,
And sing his version of “I’d Go to Jail for You”.
When Homer had finished the song, Virg asked,
“I know your given name but what ‘s your last?”
“Brown, I go by Homer Brown”, he replied
Through his unkempt beard.
Virg’s eyes went wide:
“Any relation to HubCap?”
The old coot
Stared off into empty space, stayed mute
For a while, as if brooding over something
Hovering on high.
“Lord, that man could sing.
Can’t tell ‘xactly how, but we’re related
For sure.”
Brothers? Cousins? Virg was elated
To meet anyone sharin’ the blood of Waldo
HubCap Brown, even if he didn’t know
Precisely to the drop.
If me and Virg had been
The Pimps (and had Virg not fallen in
La-ove with Bea), we might-a cut a deal.
Homer’s hankering for her out so real
Even Bea could see.
Now Virg and me are
Bad enough boys, but not the worse by far.
You know we was slinging dope from a stash
We stole. Yet I won’t cross, even for cash,
Certain lines. Pimps are the scum of the earth,
Leechin’ like the gov’nment on the worth
Of honest folk.
“I know you’re on the lam”,
Homer said. “If it helps you outa your jam.
You can hole up a while, stay in the shacks.
The snakes won’t bother you, you can relax.
I’ll feed ’em real good, keep the cat in at night.
She won’t bug you either. She don’t bite
Humans. Anyone on that road, you’ll hear
‘Em in time to hide. Jess park your truck and gear
Yonder out of sight behind them pines.
Yawl can camp here long as you’re so inclined.”
Now my Daddy used to take me out to hunt
In the Piney Woods, where we’d confront
Wild turkeys. Dad’d have a nip or few
Of the bourbon of that name or some brew
From a can. Good ol’ time was had by all,
Like we had at Homer’s little bolthole,
Where it was wise for a while to bide
Some time.
We had what was needed to tide
Us over. Virg needed time of his own
To tame and train her. He had holt of a wishbone
He hoped and prayed would break his way: shacking
Up with sexy Bea. What was nerve-racking
Was I seen her first. By rights, she belonged to me.
Gotta fess up. Been makin’ fun of Virg, how he
Thinks things through so careful slow, item
By item, till a flash ignites in him.
It was Virg whose lights went on, not mine.
“Dummer than the dickens to make a bee line
For Sparks City”, he warned. The Partners could
Ferret out our contact there. They knew the ‘hood,
A seller’s market. To get their wish
They’d jess wait us out. Easy as shooting fish.
He’d been talking with Bea about all this.
She found it funny he’d stole her with a kiss
Same time we stole the damned dope. Or vice-
Versa. Thing about her friends, they were nice
And reliable Indians who wouldn’t traffic
With white folks, let alone pornographic
Scum like the Pimps? Cordin’ to Bea, they had
A good eye for a deal, like everyone glad
To roll smoke. They would bargain with Bea, one
Of their own. When they learned what the Pimps done
To her, they’d would deal with them too.
“Johnny, I saw her beautiful tat-too.
She part Choctaw, Coushatta or sump’m.”
He didn’t spare telling me it was on her rump.
“H – A – S – H – I T – A – Y – I – K.”
He spelled the letters out one by one, way
He does. “It’s some Injun lingo, means Moon-
Woman.” Once we left Homer’s place (soon!)
She’d call’em up, find a home for our shit.
Didn’t first buy that Bea was even a bit
Native, tatoo or not, her Granny full blood,
But Indians do look like the rest of our brood:
Prob’bly a lot of peckers in their woodpile.
To get away from Homer’s place took a while.
You know how it is: We had moonshine, dope,
Everything in that department to hope
For. Once we said we’d stay Homer made a run
To town for provisions, procured a ton
Of taters, bringing to mind the HubCap tune
That Virgil under his breath loved to croon,
Mangling the words of, HubCap’s “Mashed
Potatoes and Gravy”, as usual unabashed
In so doing: “O, I usta chomp on meat
Back when I had teeth, now all I can eat
Is taters and gravy….”. I’ll spare you
The rest.
Couldn’t believe that Bea knew
How to cook from scratch. To make porridge,
She’d go into the woods for stuff to forage,
I dunno, mushrooms, things like mushrooms,
Nettles, berries, stuff to serve as legumes
In something homemade. Whenever she could get
Virg satisfied, she’d even endeavor to pet
The pythons, following them around, spying
On what they did and didn’t do, also trying
To make friends with the cat. When she’d go cook,
Barefoot in the kitchen, it was worth a look.
Homer liked his meat, though he cared which kind.
He preferred his squirrel to birds, didn’t mind
Armadillo or things fishy. I learned
That like me when a boy, he yearned
For crawdad gumbo, victuals to be caught
By knowing how to tease them out
Of the ditches from their holes behind
Mud clump mounds with bacon bits on twine.
Bat was Homer’s meat of choice. Cudn’t stand
To shoot ’em and they’re hard to catch by hand.
He made do with nutria, a tasty swamp
Delight.” It was pretty good the stew he whomped
Up with those water rats, not as good as cow.
Between the two of Bea and him, we had good chow.
I was high most the while, Virg, gone on Bea.
Homer and I got a tiny bit testy,
Frustrated’s more the word. But I coaxed
Him into singing lots, playing along on his ax
Many of his favorites, especially
“Ain’t Got Much Living Left Inside of Me.”
3 – Ala-ga-zam, the Alligator Man
First we had to find a phone booth, then dimes
To make it work. Bea had to try three times
Before she got through. No need for wiles.
She talked direct to the Chief. Came back all smiles.
The Indians were buying in. We’d rendez-vous
At a road show in Noosetown, they’d preview
The goods, we’d fix a price.
I’d heard of Noose,
A town where everyone played fast and loose.
Only way to bring some law and order
In was to string up the scum and ordure
One by one — talking about white ones too.
Nowadays Noose was no longer the zoo
It was. It’d become a fine place to raise
Big families. How come Swamp Carnival stays
So long and comes twice t’a year. Young’uns
Got nothing else to do. Sure, it’s tons
of sport to frolic in the bayous with gators,
Snapping turtles, whatever the Creator’s
Put swimmin’ in there — cottonmouth water
Moccasins! — things you don’t want your daughter
Or even son to play with. Swamp Carnival
Was good, clean family fun. Nothing carnal.
No kootch shows. Though I’d bet on this:
A road show that don’t smell of puke and piss
Ain’t much fun either.
The Chief had said
To keep close to the Tomahawks and Head-
Feathers stand. They’d find us, cause they’d know
To recognize Bea. We found their sideshow
On the midway. First had to get past queasy
Rides and game booths there to lure easy
Marks like Virg, who stopped to throw enough
Softballs at bottles to have won silly stuff
For Bea. She got her choice of a prize
On the top row. What came as a surprize:
Jess like a little girl, she chose a pink
Teddy-bear. Made me stop and think.
“Ala-ga-zam, come see the Alligator-Man”,
A carny barked out. “See the Crawdad-Woo-Man,
Lovin’ Werewolves, Amorous Pythons, Siamese
Triplets!”
Truth be told, don’t go for all that sleaze.
Presty-digitation, cutting ladies in half,
Pullin’ things out-a hats — just makes me laugh.
But that’s where the Indians had set up shop.
When Swamp Carnival came to Noose they popped
Over from the Rez, dressed up in buckskins
And head-dresses. Then’s when the fun begins,
Cause with fanfare and panache they’d pick
Volunteers to show off this and that trick
With tomahawks or bows and arrows.
Real Indians dressed up to perform in shows
As if they were Injuns? That didn’t make no
Business sense. A cheaper way to go
There had to be. But I’m not here to blame
Anyone. If you’re one by that or any name
Better to get paid to act out who you
Are, as opposed to “Workin’ Hard at Who
You Ain’t” — in the words of maestro HubCap.
The Chief had suffered some kind of mishap,
Was short his right arm. Either he’d under-
Estimated a gator’s reach, or, I wondered,
Had something gone wrong with the throw
Of a war axe? Chief threw good southpaw, though
Couldn’t have been the left limb he started with.
A gator wud-a chomped that one off forthwith.
We didn’t get to watch the show much before
They spotted Bea. Doffing the head-dress he wore
One of them invited her up to applause.
Seems Bea did this kind-a thing. After a pause
She dropped a curtsey and bowed, went right
Over to the target, without showing the least fright,
Refused the blindfold. She stared right back at
The Chief, who’d donned a feathered black hat.
With Bea smiling, not even a flinch, he spun
Tomahawks at her, perfectly landing one
Close as a shave next to each of her cheeks.
The last, to show off his avanced techniques,
He threw over his shoulder with exaggerated ease,
Putting it delicately between her knees.
At this point I began to think I’d had too
Much to smoke. So I turned to Virg to
See how he was takin’ all this, love’s slave.
Fortunately, there was a strong-looking brave
Standing between him and the stage stairs
Bea’d been escorted up. But Virg was without cares,
Smiling like a goon at Bea, who was a jewel.
Woman could do that could break any rule,
Do anything. Virg, you see, he really loved her.
The Chief came down once the first act was over
To talk to me, not to Virg. He done right.
Bea must-a tol’ him I was the white
Boy he should deal with. I had the keys.
It was my truck.
The way that amputees
Do, he took my right hand in his left,
Shook me warm greetings with a manly heft.
“Got the samples?” he asked.
“Shore do,
But right in front of these Christian fam’lies?”
“Don’t chew
Worry,” he replied. “Rednecks can’t tell the diff’rence
‘Tween one smell and the next. They got no sense
Of odor.”
What he proposed was to try it
In their peace pipe. If they liked it, they’d buy it.
Right up on stage during intermission!
Folks expect Indians to smoke. It’s an old tradition.
They don’t expect them not to drink. Indians do
What they wanna. So he climbed up and drew
A circle round Bea.
Sump’um should-a warned
Me. Didn’t know where they came from: Bea was adorned
With beads.
Out-a his pouch the Chief pulled a bone
Pipe which dangled feathers: same colors as Bea’s own
Beads and the head-dresses too. He thumbed
A pinch of the shit into the bowl, then hummed
A blessing — I figured, don’t know their lingo.
Holding over the bowl what looked like a Zippo
He lit up, took a toke, held it in for
A good long while and exhaled before
Passing the apparatus on around
The circle. Everyone including Bea found
Some deep thought to reflect on. Solemn enough
These Injuns, contemplating the stuff
For its own pleasure and its market worth.
Second round they burst into hails of mirth
As one by one they each took a deep toke,
Lost in a rapturous world of smoke.
A good sign for our business venture,
I thought, not knowing our adventure
Had just begun. Knew it was strong shit
but had no previous idea how it
affected Indians, sensibilities
Different from ours, if only in degrees.
Bea came down from the stage, tol’ us deal done.
They’d cancel the last show, meet us in one
hour at a clearing in the woods known
As Humma Ofi. Bea, who had grown
Up playing there, said it meant Red Dog.
Why? She didn’t know. Jess some swampy bog.
Weren’t no dogs, though the soil wuz laterite
Red.
Long as the buyers could check right
That the shit they were gettin’ was the same
Shit they had on stage …. Wasn’t runnin’ a con game,
So that was fair enough. Knew it was, had
Had plenty of it.
On our side, Virg was glad
To count the money, cause numbers come
One after another in rows, easy to sum
Them up. Twenty grand! You might think a lot
for Indians to have on hand and trot out
All-a a-sudden. But these Indians’d been
A long while in bid’ness. Sure they indulge in
Drink and smoke and other sins. Who dudn’t?
But Injuns got lots going for them, wudn’t
You say?
When we were finally shakin’
hands, the Chief’s missin’ one respectfully taken
Into account, jess then (I swear you not!)
Fireworks started goin’ off, almost out of earshot.
Last night of the traveling roadshow. Swamp
Carnival was moving on to new stompin’
Grounds. Bangs kept floatin’ in seconds
After the eruptions of light. Virg reckons
Distance by counting out Mississippi’s, the way
He does, so he informed us, “Five miles away.”
We watched these blossoms of light flower,
Bursting over the pines round our bower,
Heard their faint booms, the streamers already ash.
We found a fancy motel we now had the cash
For, took a whole suit, ordered room service ice
And whiskey, plus Coke for Bea. Worth the price.
Food weren’t no good. We didn’t care, all tired
Out from our long day. So Virg and Bea retired
Through the door to the other room, “Virg, you keep
The stash bag,” Made him proud. Then I fell asleep
In front of the boob tube.
4 – “The Road’s My Only Home”
“Shee-it, Johnny,”
First sound I heard, a curse but more of a plea.
It was dawn. Virg was shaking my shoulder.
“We got trouble big time. I reached to hold her
But she gone.” Then: “She took the cash.” He didn’t go
Into detail but seems she’d put on quite a show
That night, took him on a ride, using all her charms.
They passed out in a tangle of legs and arms.
He’d held her close, her body not her soul,
Most of the night long, but not the whole.
Soon as he pried his eyes open, groping
for her missing warmth — maybe he was hoping
To do it again — all he got: a handful of sweet
Nothing, jess a cool rumpled sheet.
Gone too was the stash bag which held the loot,
Took him a while, lyin’ there, to compute.
Bea had taken not just Virg for a ride
But me. In my mind’s eye I saw her outside,
Stash bag hanging across her comely frame.
First I thought she might be sole to blame
Might still be out there trying to hitch,
A ride with the next guy she’d bewitch.
But someone musta been in cahoots with this thief,
Partners, Pimps, or her cousin, the Chief.
We weren’t gonna go to Sparks to find out.
Better sometimes than dying, to live with doubt.
Virg didn’t care ’bout the money or the weed.
All that mattered for him was that Bea’d
Left him. Crippled sick with grief and sorrow,
He sang made-up words for tunes he’d borrow
From HubCap, repeating like a broke record —
Hell! A whole broke jukebox — the Lord
Knows how many errant versions of
Of HubCap’s best hits: “Just Testing My Love”
“Wherever I Look All I See Is You”, plus
Another fav, “Why You Makin’ All This Fuss”
Born into heartbreak, heartbreak brings us song.
Those who can’t sing for shit jess mumble along,
Bunglin’ the words, like Virg does.
Don’t matter.
Lyrics of love lost are pitter-patter
We all know by heart, all who’ve been compelled
To lose what we want and, too briefly, held.
The rest is jess so much yakety-yak
Virg knew, we know, they never come back.
Nor do we. Only life left to Virg and me,
Was running the road before us. And it’s easy
To lose the way when you cross a zone
Of hovels someone else calls their own.
I was riding shotgun, Virg at the wheel.
Herds of clouds stampeeded across a surreal
Purple sky, squalls driven by gales of wind.
Gripped hard to the naugahyde-wrapped rim.
Virg’s knuckles turned white as he fought.
Against the gusts, the big storm’s onslaught.
Hail piled up in slush on the cracked asphalt.
Virg turned and said, “‘Screwed up Bad’. My fault,
Johnny.” Quoting HubCap, but that’s allowed.
Then at that very moment, things got real loud.
A twister crossed the road a football field
Ahead. Through the hail pelting the windshield
We saw it turning into junk what there
Was before, tossing around in the air
Lord knows what-all. I saw the makings
Of a house whirl by, human undertakings
Unmade, dish-pans, an ironing board, a closet
Wihout clothes. I swan a barbecue pit
Flew by. The Chevy rattled and shook but she
Stuck to the ground.
Then, suddenly, Virg tossed me
the keys, leaping down from the cab, heading
Off the direction destruction was spreading,
Single-mindedly striding away, a white knight
Advancing into a strange new twilight.
So I rev’ed her up, peeled out. Where I go
Now or will, there’s no way I can know.
In HubCap’s words, since I’m forced to roam
— Please sing along! — “The Road ‘s My Only Home”.