Manipulating Situations (Champagne by shoestring dialogue)

With the middle finger raised

Your worth is appraised

Though here;

just a pinky suffice

I've never been told

that I'm nice.

(Repeat this twice)

[while abusing vice]

my drink never lasts to melt the ice.

My insides sit stirring-

My eyes keep blurring-

and you laugh.

At life, at me,

at my stumbly-mumbly

because words do not come proper

they dwell in mind numbly.

But the kidding aside

I'll need a ride

and it hurts me inside

To know that I've gone to far; 

I've always lied

about times that I've tried

whether by foot, or by car;

I've swallowed pride

where these bubbles hide

but it comes back up causing scars.

So we hate one another

but we settle like brothers

I smile behind these crook'd yellows

no real guilt to find

in my faulty mind

with sunken eyes blind-drunken

beseeching most mothers

and so-called fellows.

My Name Is What? (Whiskey by Orlo Newbould)

Middle finger right

Stuck up my nose

Middle finger left

Pulls her pantyhose.

 

Ring finger left

Suntan line

Ring finger right

Keeps perfect time.

 

A-OK fingertips

Pinch a quarter for the juke

Queasy fingers

Press on my throat gotta puke.

 

Uneasy soul

Sucks in my ribs

Smoke in my lungs

Cradles like a crib.

 

Up on my feet

To receive some attention

Down on her knees

Done away with pretention.

 

Whiskey drips

Drop drop on the floor

My mouth is full

Like the praying whore.

 

Brain is stuck

Can’t remember her name

Momma taught me right

Say thanks when I came.

Drowned in a Delmont (Champagne by Orlo Newbould)

There was this tree trimmer from Missouri, at least that’s what he told me did for a living. He told my daughter he was in a rock and roll band. Either way, I didn’t like him. Not one bit. Whether it’s chainsaws or electric guitars, it’s too much noise. My wife liked him though. She like the way he made Mary Jo glow. Mary Jo was our daughter.

 

I locked up the bank one day and on my way out a young man in a fine suit approached me. Said he needed a job. Said his family was well connected. Just needed a little experience in finance. Wanted to be a senator or even President. Either of those is respectable. Respectable and quiet.

 

I told Mary Jo about him while having cocktails on the patio. My wife was there too.

 

“MJ, there is a young man you might like”

 

“But I love Gene”

 

“He’s no good. Makes too much noise and his car leaves oil stains in the drive.”

 

“But he’s getting promoted”

 

“As a lumberjack or lead singer?”

 

“Dear that’s not nice” chimed in my wife. “Besides, her eyes glow when Gene’s around”

 

“Her eyes always glow. That’s why the boys chase her”

 

“MJ, make your father happy and just go out with the young man”

 

“It’s not fair”

 

“Trust me, you and I will talk in the morning after I’ve calmed your father down”

 

“OK mom”

 

She drowned in his 1967 Delmont 88.

 

He’s a senator.

 

Gene played Woodstock.

tree-top humidity (whiskey by shoestring dialogue)

There was this tree trimmer from Missouri name a Frank. Frank Janis. We called him "Fran-Jan" or "Janny."  I only knew Frank for a short time.

Frank was a recovering drug addict and a dealer. He sold just enough meth to be able to use. He was likely one of the smartest people I've ever met, which makes me wish that I knew him before the drugs.  The guy had put so much up his nose that he could put a cloth up one nostril and pull it out of the other one.  He got busted one day, and quit cold turkey.  He quit using and drinking and when I met him, he had almost quit cigarettes. I'm pretty sure he accomplished that goal shortly after the last time that I saw him.

Although my time hanging out with Janny was limited, I learned a bit from his stories of using and trimming.  Mostly I realized that humans have will power.  Frank took responsibility for his past, and, more importantly, for his present and future.  

Janny took his tree trimming very seriously, and held onto a reputation for being the best.  I asked him one time how he got over the heights and waving a chain-saw around while dangling up-side down.  He laughed from the top of a beautiful white oak and looked down and said, "Kid.  After 30 feet it doesn't matter."  That's the kind of guy he was.  Common sense.  I'll never forget watching him be fearless as he flung his saw around dropping limbs in the exact spots he wanted to.  Frank is an artist, and he knows it.

I doubt I'll ever see him again. I knew him for 90 days.