Been a few years
One of those faces that comes and goes
Another coworker turned occasional drinking pal
We were playing hooky
Some welcome distraction from the grind
Of stacking shelves and complaints at home
Was a hot Georgia day
Said he’d take me out to his Old Man’s farm to shoot clay pigeons
Told me to bring some beers
So there I was, hugging a case of icy Buds
Sweating like a whore in church
And cursing my damned truck for being back at the shop again
Stuck again
Without enough cash to fix the damned carburetor

That was when the old Cherokee walked by
Was as if he came out of nowhere
This fella’ had poise, it’s the only word for it
Maybe eighty or hell, nearing ninety
But he still walked tall
These had been their lands once
Instead we ruled the roost now
Just a no-good bum cradling a case of beer and waiting to go shoot at bottles
That’s some justice there, right?
Gave me a nod as he wandered by
Then disappeared in a heat mirage down the street
Like some ghost of the past
Weeping over the ruins
Of Today

Ezy Reading is out every month.