Parent of the Year (or, making beer money with dad)

 

CRACK!

I never saw the old man

move that fast.

I mean, one minute he's

holding a cue, the next

he's hitting this poor mark
with 18 oz of wood
on the side of the head.

That poor guy didn't see

it coming.

Hell, I didn't see it

coming.

"C'mon, we gotta go,"

I tell my dad as he is grabbing the guys money

off the table.

I pull dad along as stunned,

angry,

rednecks

start to head our way.

Okay, let me tell you,

I thought I was dead,

or at best

left in a coma

if we didn't leave.

If he weren't my dad

I would have left him.

I know any other

hustling,

drunk,

septuagenarian

would have died that night.

I pushed the old man

into the Cordoba,

prayed it would

start. (it did)

We peeled away,

no headlights in the

rear view.

"How much did we make?"

I asked.

"$40.00."

The rest of the ride home

was silent.

© Charles Scott 2014

From Matthew J. Hall

 This needs to be in a physical form that fits into a back pocket to be taken out more often than not and read.



From the Depths and Through the Madness

From Matthew J. Hall

 This needs to be in a physical form that fits into a back pocket to be taken out more often than not and read.



From the Depths and Through the Madness

A Good Poem

I was asked,

“When do you know you have written a good poem?”

Oh, the question

I have yet to answer.

I don't know. I haven't written one yet.

Bad poetry is easy to spot,

but a good one

takes time to read, ingest,

digest.- whereas,

a bad one burns

the stomach

and no amount

of antacid, Pepto

or Prilosec

will cure it.

A good poem

makes the poet go mad

looking for

the right word

-not any word-

the perfect word,

torn from the bone

and placed on the plate

to be devoured,

filling the gut.

Yet still needing to

mirror life,

mundane...exciting,

mediocre...explosive!

A good poem,

to the poet,

is as evasive as

The Flying Dutchman,

Elvis or

D.B. Cooper.

A good poem

is best created at night (so says Hank)

anything else is like

running naked through a shopping mall.

It is best created

with a warm buzz

of beer,

whiskey

or cheap homemade wine.

The lack of either creates MADNESS.

The surfeit creates

beauty.

A good poem

rips the heart out,

mends the soul,

exposes the truth

and exaggerates

the

mundane.


© Charles Scott 2014

A Good Poem

I was asked,

“When do you know you have written a good poem?”

Oh, the question

I have yet to answer.

I don't know. I haven't written one yet.

Bad poetry is easy to spot,

but a good one

takes time to read, ingest,

digest.- whereas,

a bad one burns

the stomach

and no amount

of antacid, Pepto

or Prilosec

will cure it.

A good poem

makes the poet go mad

looking for

the right word

-not any word-

the perfect word,

torn from the bone

and placed on the plate

to be devoured,

filling the gut.

Yet still needing to

mirror life,

mundane...exciting,

mediocre...explosive!

A good poem,

to the poet,

is as evasive as

The Flying Dutchman,

Elvis or

D.B. Cooper.

A good poem

is best created at night (so says Hank)

anything else is like

running naked through a shopping mall.

It is best created

with a warm buzz

of beer,

whiskey

or cheap homemade wine.

The lack of either creates MADNESS.

The surfeit creates

beauty.

A good poem

rips the heart out,

mends the soul,

exposes the truth

and exaggerates

the

mundane.


© Charles Scott 2014