My mother recounts her
Childhood to me, saying:
“Every night Daddy would
light a cigar and watch the
CBS news or Lawrence Welk
in his rocking chair,
laughing a little.
And every morning he would
wake next to Mama, read
the paper in his undershirt and
suspenders and drive his dump
truck down the street and
throw bread crumbs off the
porch, saying "The birds gotta
eat too, Mama."
Sometimes on Sundays
Roguey Tom would turn up
smelling like booze
and passing out 20 dollar bills
to all the kids
Drifting through the state
like a man with no ties
his own children no doubt
home and worried, his
nieces reveling in the novelty
of his visit.
Mama would make him
dinner and a cup of coffee
before Daddy collected back
his brother’s money from the kids and
drove him to the bus stop, saying
"go on back to your family, Tom."--
and I wonder, now, if he ever wanted
to buy a case of beer and get on that bus too?
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