Leaves Sound Like Keys: Lightning Slim

And so it goes 

Lightning Slim nears, it’s mighty crazy

as the wind picks up bruised magnolia 

leaves sounding like keys 

scratching across these deserted streets.

Tiny Tim’s found shelter 

with a band of cockroaches 

porched half-baked on 

an awning-covered stoop.

Sirens wail. 

Church bells ring. 

A stranger walks up and offers him 

a swig from a pint bottle wrapped

in a brown paper bag.

Have you ever, 

he laughs in the galloping rain

tilted your head back 

with your dry mouth wide open

and taken a moment to wonder

what’s it like to drown? 

I can’t say I have

As of yet,

Tiny Tim replies.

You will, someday, chuckles the stranger

If you sit long enough around here.

Now sitting on the stoop. 

Sipping the pint

Fast falling rain transpires into glistening puddles.

Tiny Tim fumbles trying to scratch out a world

With a broken pencil and Bet-R receipt. 

Curious enough to notice he’s wearing

a pair of muck boots,

heavy worn overalls, 

and owns the hands of a farmer. 

What do you do for a job?

I take care of the ponies working the buggies.

That’s cool.

Not really. I smell of horse manure all day an’ night. 

It takes me forever to clean up. 

The pays good though.  

Trouble is, 

I gotta check myself for mushrooms every day.

They finish the bottle, cutting up.

Why’s that? Tiny Tim asks. 

Just to make sure 

none of them are growing on me. 

Tiny Tim laughs, a tad giddy from the cheap booze.

I thought mushrooms only grow in cow sh*t. 

Cow sh*t. Horse sh*t. Dog sh*t.

You ain’t going to tell me 

no mushroom knows no difference! 

You do have a point

Laughs Tiny Tim, already nodding off,

Restless for a cure

Saying adieu.

The stranger doesn’t hear him. 

He’s already rambling into the wind

Both forgotten as Lightning Slim sparkles 

With the brown burnt magnolia leaves 

That to this day sound like

Keys forever scratching

Across empty dead end streets.