Downer
By GC SMITH
Come home from da job dead tired beat. Me an’ Muscles spent da day demolish’n ol’ plaster walls in a River Road mansion. Dust an’ horse hair in da air all day. Miserable hot. Talk ‘bout sweat o’ da brow, dat job was it.
Muscles drop me off ta home an’ dere in da yard is dat flame paint mota-cycle dat TT sellin’. Hot damn, I figger Dupree had it all wrong. Colleen gone an’ bought dat bike fo’ me. Whoo-boy, dis guy’s one happy fella.
I get me inside da house an’ dere on da coffee table is a pink crash helmet. Dat strike me weird. In da kitchen I ova-hear Colleen on da phone (I figger wit her sista) tellin’ all ‘bout da mota-cycle she done bought fo’ herself.
I turn ‘rond, go out da door, an’ head fo’ Dupree’s place. Coupla col’ ones might could smooth out my low-down state o' mind. Maybee.
Poetry, prose, and other stuff meant for the reader's enjoyment. Web page at: Click here. My novels are White Lightning, The Carbon Steel Caress, In Good Faith, and Mudbug Tales; A Novel in Flashes, wit' recipes. My poetry book is A Southern Boy's Meanderings. CLICKY My webpage:
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