Old Enough
Truth has so many lessons, so many meanings and the lord knows it's a debatable subject when sitting around the supper table. I always make sure I look busy eating; nobody knows what I see in a day. Truth is, I ran straight to the railroad tracks after breakfast this morning, cut through tall, dry, grass where clumps of broken beer bottles and cans swell up on unkempt lots, where people have dumped ole fridge-a-dares, washing machines and just about anything they don't want. I was told never to do such a thing, that is, go to the railroad tracks. By being obedient in other ways, on time for meals, helping carry groceries, running the vacuum cleaner down the long hallway to Paw-Paw's room, well, I earned that big, little, title of "Trust-worthy." Truth is I am trust worthy when it comes down to it; if I hear someone passing hearsay around about Paw-Paw, I correct them or I run home and tell him. So, at the railroad tracks I saw a man drunk at 8.30 in the morning today, a little boy crying with his Mom dragging him behind her with no shoes and some good tires to make swings out of; I have a swing made from wood, but somebody could make a swing if they wanted to. The drunk man looked familiar. I stared at him until he growled; I jumped backwards behind a poison ivy covered oak tree and well, that would draw some attention to me later on, but it shook off that ole smelly hobo for a bit. I am eight and smart but my teacher told Paw-Paw I talk too much; I am fascinated by hobo's. I think about hopping on the back of a real caboose, hanging on like I do at the schoolyard's merry-go-round, screaming my fool head off. I want to see what's out there beyond the sycamore and brow beating summer heat. Paw-Paw loves Jimmy Dean sausage; this afternoon I saw a trailer bed with Jimmy Dean written fancy across it; I almost blew it and told Paw-Paw. That's how much I talk. Learning to be quiet at the supper table is my goal for the summer. Pearl, Paw-Paw's help, sets the table for us and he always tells her to take a plate home for herself. She's pretty with chocolate milk coloured skin that is as smooth as a satin pillow case. When here, she wears her hair pulled back in a small coal bun right at the nape of her neck with a net over it. A little charcoal bun in a net. My hair flies all over the place until the day before school starts up. That's when Pearl takes me into town and has it cut into a pixie with bangs. I don't look forward to that day. For now, summer is endless, miles from here, full of nothing to do day's. Before supper, Pearl always checks me for ticks and hoses me down so I don't track mud in. She is playful with me. I love her; I wonder if Paw-Paw loves her, too. It's lonely sometimes with just me and Paw-Paw; his grand-paw eyes grow heavy after supper and he falls asleep right quick, sprawled out on the gold, plush sofa he snores away and I sneak around the house looking for treasures. I am a tom-cat, meow! I am a spy for "Get Smart" and use radar. Suddenly, I drop down on the floor crawling, I am a hostage escaping through secret tunnels under Paw-Paw's bed; I am a pilot steering my jet over the endless tree tops, beyond the drunken hobo's and rusty, iron train tracks. Whoooa! I can see Pearl shucking corn and singing, I go higher and higher above the midnight street lamps, the moon is full of cheese, smiling by my side; I am soaring until I plop from my parachute into my marshmallow bed where I lay until dawn dreaming.
Comments (13)
Nicely penned I could imagine them, Perhaps I need to recite this poem next time see a an ant parade going by on the side of my sink,
They always seem to.be going somewhere, don't they? Wonderful poem.
Fun and entertaining!!! Love this!!!❤️❤️💕
Lovely… I can enjoy this ant anthem, because they’re currently absent from my kitchen (winter time here).😳 I also have fond memories of the ‘Ants go marching… hoorah” song😃.
Christy, this is fun and gleefully poetic, and I don't care how much work I have, I stop and read you! I agree with John Cox, I caught the Saints Go Marching In resemblance also, but that is not what we call ants that are currently asking for a smackdown in my kitchen sink.
Not a fan of ants lol but loved this poem
I always see ants gathered around nothing and they would all be so still. It would seem like they're in some sorta meeting or ritual, lol. Loved your poem!
Wow, I just love it, although I was always paranoid from ants🥲
nice
You turned something small and seemingly insignificant into a powerfully captivating, nostalgic memory. Awesome work as always!
Ha ha what a fantastic poem😄 . Reflection of the childhood .
Did this borrow little bits from the saints go marching in? Clever and fun! Loved the pic!
Your captivation with such a scene came through crystal clear! Love the allusion elements to the song