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.
