Thursday, March 22, 2012

Working Man.

“Walking short way home he fall to sleep on the tracks and wake to stomach grumble coming in he dead black dreams that turn howl that he can’ pronounce to be and one strong white light which he don’ think he want to head in to yet, billow black smoke blacker than night he in, all with no choice or chance of stop! While the rails, rails, and rails pound up in he head crack, crack!  All in jus’ bout five, five seconds, and he have but two more on earth he gather; so he pull up he eye-lids and heave whiskeyed-up almost carcass body over by a half a good foot.  And death scream on past, on way from factory where he claim work all week, on it way shining for a bigger town. He got no drive but to sleep the rest off in swamp ditch by that track.

            In the morning sun smoldering mud to he skin, neighbor mongrel kids poke at he with a B.B. gun and ask if he’re a monster and if he was gonna plan to eat them, cause they have before and will kill he deader than a swamp monster should of be.  When he try to open mouth, some thick spider yarn hold down the throat and let-get nothing but a sick wheeze-heee in.  So the mongrels dose up a brass ball in the neck and he flip about thrashing, gurglin’ up a scream, ‘til they fright and take off bowlegged up gravel hill and out.

            Half the day later he’ve made it home and have picked the brass out of neck and washed and now he woman spits on he and feeds he warm cornbread she made with her untiring created beautiful woman hands and woman soul while he try explain that he took tracks cause the short way.  But he can’ do nothing but be sorry and say that the Friday night that did this to Saturday morning anyhow and he swear what happened was that Satan must of gotten hold’a he in that bottle passing ‘round that table, that’s what he say, say Friday must be the ease on work week he tell her.

            But he woman spits while she gets the laundry on the line and he make mind to curse the neighbor mongrel kids for stealing out of the garage until he give up and end up cutting half the grass in the yard ‘til the gas run out. Then finally he put on Saturday face and ask her, he woman, to come out, and she says, No, she never. So he spit, he spit on her and take down the town road, down the long way, to place where music flops and town sprawls for him. He says.”

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