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Date published: May 12, 2006
Kicking up gravel down an ornery stretch of country road,
flying high through the backwoods sewing them wild oats,
Passing through every honky tonk n' waylay station,
patronized each den of sin looking for salvation,
Sleeping on the run, not a second there to spare,
one eye open all the time, a tad more here than there,
Got no time to rest, the bounty on me is riding high,
need to put some miles between them, and a little time...
Getting down n' getting it on, the good times were flowing free,
wasn't looking for any trouble, there to satisfy a need,
Must've been Ole Jack D. putting a sizzle in my glass,
was on my knees calling, "Mama!" faced down in some girl's lap,
From the bottom of a bottle the world looks mighty strange,
the girls do get prettier, and Hell, what's in a name?
Only one itch I wanted scratched, not begging for a fight,
schmoozing for some company on a Saturday night,
Her daddy didn't like it, the women folk, neither, too,
seven brothers and assorted kin sized me for a noose,
Tried to set the record straight once I pried her off my lips,
Last thing I recall was a, 'Hey, Y'all, c'mere and watch this!'
Another night of never be's, so much for best laid plans,
might as well go for broke, the devil don't give a damn,
I turned the other cheek, and caught a left hook on the chin,
with family there's no one on one, "Let the party begin!"
Who hit first or who hit who, the winners will decide,
right then I was more concerned about keeping me alive,
Came waist to face with Granny, a feisty little thing,
best kept at arm's length though, she'll rip ya with her mean,
Cornered some poor old soul , maybe an uncle, I don't know,
shielded my way through relatives, keeping my backside low,
A whirlpool of a free for all, go with the flow no standing pat,
They spit me out high and dry, on a run still with my hat!
My knees were shaking, but not hesitating to get me gone,
peddle to the metal, making tracks, ' Good-bye, Soooo long!'
Kicking up gravel down an ornery stretch of country road,
flying high through the backwoods, heading for parts unknown.
Jack E. Bilek
Copyright©05-11-06
All rights reserved.
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Poetry
