posted before, but not in it’s totality-BROTHER DEATH BLUES

by t.paul

Posted to Stories on 2002-01-30 13:57:00

BROTHER DEATH BLUES
or
HOW I COME TO LOVE THE LOW OBOE BLOWN NOTE

When I was a baby boy somewhere back at the ’65-’66
borderline
sometime after the godspeed goodbye
trial and separation from my anonymous momma’s sweetmilk
teat
somewhere at my six month mark there harkened a low blown
oboe note of Mister Grimness hisself
that’s right
Sir Slingblade bade me hello with his bellowin’ moan
from down the hallowed halls of childrens aid
his reedy soul chillin’ instrument vioce
doin’ a staccato Har-dee-har-har
while my teenie tot body did the click beep whistle campout

lyin’ in the white sheet oxygen tent crib
dribblin’ drool wet bronchitis sickness
amidst the black forest thicket thickness obligatto long
drawn
yawning maw of the Reaper’s creepy song
Now, you see
the nearly newborn (me) and the forlorn transformer of life
to death
of breath to none
ain’t but a step apart
so the others’ language was understood by each
like we were long lost brothers.
Now, he bein’ a skeptic of epic proportions
prone to distortin’ truth to meet his quota
he tried connin’ me
first breathin’ in then blowin’ all bluenote tones out his
oboe throat
sayin’
“Say, son
yer all alone in this world anyhow
and that hand you been endowed with don’t got a queen in
the bunch
and she be what you need so
why’nt ya just unfurl your God given
heaven spannin’angel wing’s ‘n come sing with
the orphan choir division.
If it’s too hard for you to do
with your raspy lil’ cough ‘n all
give the desicsion over to me
I’ll make the call that’ll set you free from your
lonlieness.”
Too which I responded
all goo-goo’s and gaa-gaa’s
not one eye batted in awness to his sandpaper craw raw
request
“Is that the best you can do?
Man, there’s no food for thought here
with you tryin’ to queer my life’s given hand
don’t you understand
I wasn’t brought into his world
sent to this here and now
to this oxygen tent lil’ lung ventillatin’ machine
just to give up so easy on this crazy scene.
Look at me
Mister Grimness
And know you got no buisness here
tell me if I ain’t blessed messed up or not
just to be alive
to have survived the momma poppa pink slip turn over of me
to this society tryin’ hard to find me a home sweet home.
So stop jivin’ me, you homeless bemoaner, go atone for your
own soul.
Go hone your blade on the other side ‘o town
I got no bones with or for you right now
so just lemme alone
go blow your reedy horn elsehere
go blow’til you hear me pick up the proverbial metaphor
phone and call for you
now-SHOO! Shoo-bee-doo
and GOO GOO
Mr. Boogeyman!”
So
he heaved his thick sidewindin’ snake in the grass sickle
up over it’s swingin’ shoulder
shrugged once then twice at my suggestion
of our open line connection
leaned his big ole porkpied head
in through my tent
‘n hugged me a sulphur bourbon scented goodbye
sayin’
“I don’t know why
and maybe it ain’t my buisness
but little man
this ain’t the last time we’ll meet
(he can’t help but state the obvious I thought through his
goodbye)
and that phone ring sing song greeting from you to me’ll be
sooner than you think.”
And with a stink and a clamour
He spun his left hand counter clockwise
Slippin’ his blues man porkpie guise down to the ground
Turnin’ first all smoke puff then cyclon blown desert wind
all lathing down to one tiny grain of sand.
( I later came to understand that a Mr. B. Baines down one
floor
complained the pains of somethin’ in his eye
just before sayin’ goodbye from visitin’ his bed sick wife
walked streetwise blinked once twice while crossin’ the
road
not seein’ the wide load semi comin’ for to run him down.
He was buried six feet down from Friday
with the itch gone from his eye.)


part two…


So the where’s and whyfores of my forefather and first
mother
get waylaid downplayed and deservedly outright unpaid
homage
when these two new true heart beautiful bosom love
bountiful folks signed my papers
and took the yoke of displacement from round my year old
neck
this newfound mom ‘n dad had ‘n held me in gladness
above the madness procured me from the sadness of a
potential
no audience one man show.

At my four years cowboy theme birthday party
I took my first serious near kill spill
from the chestnut back of a track walked horse
when I pulled my boy’s toy pistols from their
babyfat bolstered holster belt
yeehaw yelped ‘n popped my caps heavenways
playin’ the Gunsmoke slinger yodel singer poke
spookin’ the pony while tryin’ to prove my
swung low saddle bad guy mettle
windin’ up head first ass over tea kettle in the dust.
red range ridin’ hat rollin’ this way ‘n that
lookin skyways past the stars twinklin’ ’round my head
I saw the fat bellied slo-mo crow’s perspective
crane shot view of me and he’s loomin’ over mom ‘n dad
then landin’ next to me
Puffin’ out his blue blackness then hawkin’ phlegmy his
oboe note
his words spoke only to me
“You called-I came, jus’ the same as we’d agreed little man

now let’s get the terms of my foreseement of you on through
to
the other side understood. Firstly-”
“Whoa!” loudly shouted lil’ me sprawled all injury ridden
and much to my chagrin no one in the vicinity got it
-the pony halted
my oboe crow death throe bird stopped silent
mom ‘n dad looked sadly unmoving upon my swelling head
and all’s I said wa sthe ambivalent four year old
equivalent of “shit that hurt”
then-one beat-two beats-three of me not conscious
was the curt jump start reminder I was goose egg concussed
not dead
yet
much to the true rue regrettfulness
of my fine feathered soul collectin’ friend.
So ends my day all swoll noggin and sway vision
the rock cut incision on my scalp sewed up
suppin’ on mother love made soup .
(Next day I heard a murder occurred at the stable sometime
late that night
an unsolved mystery involvin’ a travelling salesman a
farmer and his daughter
though no harm was meant
the punchline of what usually’s a joke was found hangin’ in
the slaughterhouse in a slip knot choke -it was the
daughter-no one knows why
here they thought it oughta’ been the salesman now gone on
the fly
and right as rain a fine howdiedoo
in suit with the sudden death hard to swallow family tears
-where there’s a murder the crow’s’ll follow suppin’on your
fears).


to be continued…

copyright 2001-T.Paul
THUNDERING WORD HEARD