whiskey jar

he took another pull off the whiskey jar
and worrying his last coin tween his worn fingers
spoke real softly of the night she went
on down the river road
you could taste this muscled man restraining
you could sense how deep it cut
this brute of a man brought to tears
cause the night she went down on the river road

he was a man of the plow and field
lived for the taste of newly broken earth
and the feel of seed in the sun baked soil
lived for the green growing
just wanted a life with her natural an free
take no more than he used from the earth
and to spend his life giving his all
building a world for the two of em to live happy
till the night she went on down to the river road
now look at this poorboy
wracked to ruin
by the cruel truths

high up on the hill
neath a threadbare tree
he laid her to rest
six feet under
you could taste the once living soil
gone to corruption in the shovel
as he filled in the last soil he would ever touch
he went on himself walking real slow
to the river road
hoping that he could meet her fate
and join her in the great beyond
find him there today working the steamships
and metal rods for the harvests of steel
a sorrowful song on his lips
'tween pulls on the hard whiskey jar
for the night she went on down to the river road

Reviews

[Chaselyn]

"You could taste this muscled man restraining....you could taste the once living soil gone to corruption in the shovel," oh my goodness, the overlap of senses... nearly like synaesthesia is so powerful. I appreciate the insight into how this man feels so deeply and in a foreign manner.

[MARK JOHN JUNOR]

thank you :-)