Tuesday, July 27, 2010


They drove to Sunday School with his
parents who they never called Grandma
or Grandpa, just Ethel and Joe.
Good people who always drove Lincolns.

Whenever the song came on the radio,
Son, you’re gonna drive me to drinking,
if you don’t stop driving that Hot Rod Lincoln,

they’d turn it up, start rough housing,
laughing and making a commotion.

And the kinder Joe was to the kids,
the more bitter their stepfather became.
He’d tell them stories of abuse, cruelty
and how his Dad would always tell him-
You’re eating aren’t you?
Shape up or ship out.
If you don’t like it,leave.
If you’re not doing nothing,don’t do it here.

But the kids didn’t need to hear those stories.
They’d seen it all before,almost every single day.


Kay said...

ouch. and ouch.

Betty said...

Thanks for the follow.
I am now following you back!
What an interesting blog you've got here!
Hope you're having a lovely say!

elizabeth mueller said...

I know how it feels like to be those kids, honestly. Poor kids, they are the most innocent, yet subjected to the most awful violent things of us lumbering adults.

I really like your blog and am happy you've turned to writing, it's a wonderful thing, isn't it???

Thanks for following my blog!! :)