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Open Poetry #37
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Three hungriest men (Wanderlust)
| Open Poetry #37 |
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Three hungriest men (Wanderlust) |
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Duncan Member Ascendant
since 2001-08-07
Posts 5455 |
Thought I was gonna pick up a day’s work when a skinny, poorly dressed kid, not much older than myself, pulled up outside Gus’s Gas & Grill and hollered for the three hungriest men to jump in the back of his truck. So, old Frank Miller and I stood right up from the wall where we leaned, smoking discarded cigarette butts and headed his way. “I said three” the kid hollered, again. “What I’m hungry for, you ain’t got boy, now git” Ridgerunner spat and made like he was gonna charge that kid’s truck. Coot and Smitty hee-hawed and smacked themselves in gross exaggeration of the hilarity of the moment. Frank was already sittin’ down in the bed, ignoring it all, his back against the cab window, when the tires started kickin’ up gravel and gas flooded the old Chevy engine. I’d just hopped over the tailgate as the kid stomped the pedal and as I lost my not yet established footing, I felt myself falling backward, hard, my head cracking the wheel well as I landed. “You sorry piece a crap” I yelled springing quickly back to my feet, not yet feeling the pain of the blow, only anger at having been caught off guard. “Sit down, before ya fall down again” Frank snapped, in no mood to be argued with, so I sat down, resisting the urge to mutter something caustic just loud enough to get under his easily provoked, old man skin. Not five minutes down the road the truck veered sharply left into a gravel drive that was more rut than it was entry. A small, wooden house sat in the southernmost corner of what looked to be about a half acre of ground, an inner rectangle of which had recently been cleared of the dead wood, thick weeds and assorted debris still lying all about the area, just beyond the property line. An old wood plow lay on it’s side, weathered leather straps hanging in unchallenged retirement a few yards in front of a dead fall that rose a good five feet above my head. Something moved behind the stack and for a moment I thought it resembled the leg of a small horse, or maybe a calf, or large dog. (A farm boy, I’ve never claimed to be.) I moved a few feet closer and out of the corner of my eye noticed today’s boss, moving in the same direction. His hand reached for the plow’s handle just as I was rounding the right side of the pile of cleared material. And there, perfectly still but for the shallowest of breaths, lay the oldest animal I’d ever seen in my life. So old, so emaciated, so matted, dirty, broken and used up, that I still wasn’t sure exactly what I was looking at. “What the hell is that?” I rasped toward the kid who was tugging with all his might, trying to right the plow. I was stuck between the ability to move either forward or back. Frozen, feet and eyes, on a degree of misery that was provoking within me a violent need to vomit up every drop of bitter, nasty bile, resting acridly on the bottom of my suddenly churning stomach. “That’s the jackass you’re replacing in front of the plow” laughed the red-faced, now sweating kid, who’d finally managed to drag and angle the plow into position, ready for me and old Frank to be yoked up and coaxed into action. “You oughtta shoot the poor animal ‘steada lettin’ it lay there like that”, the words left my mouth but my eyes didn’t leave the mule, gasping more by reflex than desire to live, flies already takin’ up residence in the foamy discharge that poured from it’s nose, eyes and mouth. “Ain’t got a bullet” he said, sounding suddenly shaken by the absolute poverty of his very soul. “Don’t need one” sneered Frank, lifting a spade shovel high, over top his head and taking three, heavy and deliberate strides towards the wretched bit of life twitching on the ground. It was done before either the kid or I realized what was happening. And as the sound of the mule’s skull egg-shelling cracked once into otherwise tunnel-like silence, I felt the blood drain from my own head. It was going to be a long, trying day, all around and dinner no longer seemed a proper motivation for anything. Nonetheless, Frank and I soon adjusted ourselves into the straps of the plow and were pulling hard against the impedance of dull steel digging into the dry, rocky earth beneath it. For ten hot, punishing hours, we pushed ourselves further and further beyond each point where we’d thought ourselves finally done, beaten, exhausted past any chance for renewal. As the sun took it’s final dip into the western sky, I stuffed the brown bag full of spaghetti sandwiches and hard boiled eggs into the pocket of my wind breaker and started walkin’ back to the camp. A full half of the grub never made it past the soda machine outside of Gus’s. By the time I dragged my bone tired ass all the way across the hobo field of tents and cardboard shelters over to Jimmyray’s fire, the sky had deepened into a velvety purple and it was against that starless backdrop that I became aware of a slender, lithesome, unmistakably female form, swaying to a tune that only she could hear. |
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| © Copyright 2006 Duncan - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
Duncan Wow!! Hey, you can really write a story. You had me with you all the way. I sure hope there's more!!  |
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iliana Member Patricius
since 2003-12-05
Posts 13434USA |
Wow, Duncan! This was vivid. I think I should have waited a little while after I ate to read it...lol. Really, the writing is captivating. In a way, I felt I was reading John Steinbeck. Keep 'em comin'! ...jo |
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
Hearing the eggshell crack... well, it's just a good thing it's early, very early...before all my senses are awake... because at times I have a very sensitive ear, and the mere thought... well, let's just say I won't be eating any time soon. Which means, overall... that you wrote this very well, indeed. Now that you're back, Pup, feed our eyes some more. . |
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Susan Caldwell Member Rara Avis
since 2002-12-27
Posts 8348Florida |
 I understand why you left it now. I suppose it's my turn....and there is no way I can do this! You are amazing in every way.  "too bad ignorance isn't painful" |
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littlewing Member Rara Avis
since 2003-03-02
Posts 9655New York |
Oh yes you can, Susan. Duncan? This is by far, the best piece of writing I have read in a very long time. It made me think of Kerouacs' "On the Road" where he spent some time with a man, very much like your speaker, and befriended him, even for a short time, shared some whiskey and a bit of smoke and food, they were both hobos actually when you think about it, but the things you describe are so much like the heartbreaking beauty he saw in the midst of lifes' pain. This is superb, amazing, you should be so very proud of yourself. I am. A masterpiece. (thank you) |
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miscellanea Member Elite
since 2004-06-24
Posts 4060OH |
riveting to say the least!!! So easy to view and to feel! miscellanea |
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Midnitesun
since 2001-05-18
Posts 28647Gaia |
"I am a poor wayfaring stranger Travelling through this world of woe There's no sickness, toil or danger In that bright land to which I go" that's what I was swaying to, Dunc   I'm keepin thisun in my backpack one more for the road, so-to-speak and I aint even hungry today |
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Kethry Member Rara Avis
since 2000-07-29
Posts 9082Victoria Australia |
incidents and accidents, that's what this story/poem reminded me of. How well you coloured it with life. Excellent job. Here in the midst of my lonely abyss, a single joy I find...your presence in my mind. Unknown |
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Duncan Member Ascendant
since 2001-08-07
Posts 5455 |
I'll be back in the morning (well, MY morning...lol) with replies more appropriate to the time and kindness ya'll have put into your comments about these stories that Susan and I have been writing. For now, I'll just say that ya'll are way too generous but I'm lovin' every word of it... |
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Janet Marie Member Laureate
since 2000-01-22
Posts 18554 |
And there, perfectly still but for the shallowest of breaths, lay the oldest animal I’d ever seen in my life. So old, so emaciated, so matted, dirty, broken and used up, that I still wasn’t sure exactly what I was looking at. “What the hell is that?” I rasped toward the kid who was tugging with all his might, trying to right the plow. I was stuck between the ability to move either forward or back. Frozen, feet and eyes, on a degree of misery that was provoking within me a violent need to vomit up every drop of bitter, nasty bile, resting acridly on the bottom of my suddenly churning stomach. “That’s the jackass you’re replacing in front of the plow” laughed the red-faced, now sweating kid, who’d finally managed to drag and angle the plow into position, ready for me and old Frank to be yoked up and coaxed into action. “You oughtta shoot the poor animal ‘steada lettin’ it lay there like that”, the words left my mouth but my eyes didn’t leave the mule, gasping more by reflex than desire to live, flies already takin’ up residence in the foamy discharge that poured from it’s nose, eyes and mouth. “Ain’t got a bullet” he said, sounding suddenly shaken by the absolute poverty of his very soul. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ this will haunt me for some time to come... a measure that speaks to the depth of the write me thinks. ttys ... yaya |
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Seymour Tabin Member Empyrean
since 1999-07-07
Posts 31720Tamarac Fla |
Duncan You had me from start to finish. Well done my lad. |
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serenity blaze Member Empyrean
since 2000-02-02
Posts 27738 |
grinnin' wild I just knew you had these in you. "bone tired ass" heh. y'think in some other life, um, we? oh yeah, I'm lovin' these and I'm right proud of myself too 'cause I'm gonna take credit for bringing you out from under that rock you've been calling home.  You not only have a gift--you are a gift.  |
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Christopher
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296Purgatorial Incarceration |
I need this back toward the top so I can get to it when I get the chance. BTW, my reply will start off with "D, This isn't poetry..."  |
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Christopher
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296Purgatorial Incarceration |
Trying to get to this... working on it... this whole "real world / work" thing interferes with all the fun stuff!  |
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Duncan Member Ascendant
since 2001-08-07
Posts 5455 |
First off, I'm really sorry for not getting back here before now. It's been one of those weeks, with plenty of excuses but no good reason for my lateness in thanking y'all for the responses on this one, in particular, and the "series", in general. When I saw Karen's thread about writing a hobo poem, I instantly wanted to do one but knowing me as I do, doubted I'd get through three lines, let alone finish anything. Thing was, I really wanted to write something for Karen. Don't know if y'all noticed, but she's had a rough coupla years...  So yep, gotta give credit where it's due. You got me out from under my warm rock, K.Then when Susan said she'd join me in a few poems, I agreed to give it a try. Truth is, I don't think I've enjoyed writing anything this much in a really long time. It has been MY pleasure to do these and y'alls responses have been great and completely unexpected. So thanks, I might just get through this winter afterall.. And C??? This oughtta be good. So why isn't this poetry? I know, you love it when I rhyme, but I can't do it in everything I write, yanno???  |
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