Long gone flown away
With the foolish old punk-pop
Anthems, real Gen X dancing
By themselves, kissing deadly
And not enough.
Accompanying my grandmother
For the bestowal of Ronald Reagan’s
Cheese and canned commodity chicken
And after, Lawrence Welk on the
Big wooden console teevee
An onion sandwich! With Miracle Whip!
She found eighty bucks one time
On the floor at Albertson’s
And boy we left that supermarket
In a hurry, cart stilling drifting
Abandoned mid-aisle half full
Of eggs and milk
We went to do the shopping at Safeway,
Graceless, but bringing five through
The Depression (always capitalized)
Leaves a mark and no doubt.
Chase a crow a mile for that
Someday, teevee dinners around
The wood-crated tube, prickly
Old sectional sofa, watching Dallas
Or maybe the Friday Night Movie
Complete with running commentary
To accompany Swanson’s Salisbury Steak,
Lonely.
But then days of the house filled
With uncles, aunts, cousins of varying
Degrees of kissability, old-time
Truck driving, lion killing friends
Eyeing the last biscuit with bacon gravy,
Hash browns, a barn’s worth of eggs,
Endless black coffee out of the red can,
Too many sour plums off the overburdened
Tree, sips of secret whiskey from the old men
In the kitchen.
Lying in wait for fantastic
Backyard tigers and bears
Real projectile-firing plastic rifle
Clutched at my side until boredom
And the buttery kitchen light call
Back up fuchsia smothered steps
To laughter and rough scornful love.
Mockery never ceasing, deep engrained
Ultimate shield against feeling too much,
Against fear of it all flying away and
Leave everyone sleeping rough under
The blanket tent again, cooking on the
Tail gate, hungry still among the orange
Groves.
Git a job at the grocery store
She told me, then
When The Depression comes again
They can pay you with food.
Author: Duncan MacNae
Exiled Gael, scion of the Dust Bowl, dweller within Divine Grace, admirer of mountains, I have made my peace with trout and the starlings. Looking for a river and healing trees.
duncanmacduncan5@gmail.com
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