THE DAY I BOUGHT MY SON A COKE

This is a portrait of real life; at least my life I have purposefully avoided using punctuation except where I thought it might be needed for clarity. I also did not use quotes. I hope that anyone reading it will understand who is talking.

I wanted this to be as stark, cold and raw as those February days were when this event took place.

THE DAY I BOUGHT MY SON A COKE

I hadn’t seen Joe in years

I didn’t even know if he was alive

Kathy called late one night

Left a message on the machine

Your son’s in jail; he has a broken arm

They’re not doing anything to help him

He needs you; don’t call me back

Well I’m sorry daughter your message is too vague

You didn’t block your number

I hit re-dial; she picked up

I told you not to call back

Tell me, do you want me to help your brother

Yes I do, but I don’t want to talk to you

Well the two are bound together; she relents

Thursday morning it’s cold

Freezing rain greets a February day

Nine o’clock dentist appointment

Nine-thirty I’m on my way; Sioux Falls

Two hundred-fifty miles west

North of Albert lea truck spins

Stops backwards; in the ditch

One hour and one hundred dollars later

I’m back on the road

Trucks imprint still in the ditch

Seven pm I’m at relatives home

A sleepless night then I head to

Sioux Falls, county jail

Video conversation; fifteen minutes to the second 

Monitor goes blank and I curse

The jailer, Joe’s mother

The system, God and life

His mother says bail is two thousand

I donate five hundred; credit card maxed

She asks if that is all I’m giving

I become angry, but say nothing

Friday afternoon I pick Joe up from jail

He begs me to help his girlfriend

She is facing federal felony charges

Three year minimum

Once again I disappoint

 His car is at mom’s home on the way there

We pass a store; he asks if I can buy him

A bottle of pop; I buy a large coke

He stands by my truck as I approach

No coat, it’s cold

His broken arm hangs low

In obvious pain, but he doesn’t complain

I help him back into the truck

He drinks the coke; holds the bottle up

This is worth fifteen cents in California he says

He tosses the bottle on the floor

He goes on; out there I can live easy

Life is hard here; I wanted to see mom

So I came back; sorry I did

We visit with his mom one hour

He fights with his half brother

He says he needs two hundred

But, doesn’t say for what; I think I know

I have 350 in cash I give him 300

He hugs us all and drives away

I’m sure by that time Saturday

He was in San Francisco

I linger two more hours with his mother

She heaps blame after blame on me

I don’t argue

She goes through a twelve pack of Bud

Smokes close to a pack of cigarettes

With each beer she becomes mellower  

I get up to leave; she asks; why did you leave me

Bud, I say

What, you left me for a man

I meant, Budweiser

You left me because you like Budweiser

Her confusion showing sadly on her face

No, I say, I left because you like Budweiser

You son-of-a-bitch she said

I let the screen door close softly

I needed gas for the drive home

The coke bottle rolled around on the floor

I stopped for gas; removed debris from truck floor

Walked to the trash can; tossed the bottle in

Tears welled in my eyes as I did so

I retrieved it; filled my tank and headed home

   The bottle sits on a shelf in my home now

Along with other treasured family mementos

Sometimes I look at it and reflect

Joe’s words echo through my head

This is worth fifteen cents in California

Maybe someday I’ll go out there

Take the fifteen cent bottle to him

Maybe by then
it’ll be worth a little more

dale butler

April 2013

http://www.napowrimo.net/2013/02/napowrimo-2013-is-coming/

Pride, Fear and Blame

Day 11  I'm a few days behind, hopefully I'll be able to make up ground later. In the meantime here's one inspired by Brad Paisley's new song "Accidental Racists." If you haven't heard it I encourage you to do so. It is very controversial. the messgae init goes so much deeper than mere racists rhetoric. 

Pride, Fear and Blame

I’m a black man and

All you see is a gangster

I’m a southern white man and

All you see is a racist

I wear my baggy pants in

Protest of your racism

I wear my rebel flag tee shirt to

Show ancestral pride

I’m suspicious of you

With that flag

I’m afraid of you

With baggy pants

You pack a gun under

That white hat

You pack one in your

Baggy pants

I am proud of my

Black heritage

I am proud of my

Southern heritage

I am stuck somewhere between

Pride and fear

I am stuck somewhere between

Pride and blame

http://www.napowrimo.net/2013/02/napowrimo-2013-is-coming/

Rain and You

Day 8  It's funny how when you are looking for a subject to write about, nature can just jump up and say."Hey, look here this should work."

          RAIN AND YOU

Last night I drove home in rain and I

thought of you

Each swipe of the wiper blade seemed to

whisper your name

Rain has no sadness for me It was raining

when we met

I thought of the many days we shared

in the rain

The evenings in the restaurants and theatres

around town

The way we burned up the back seat of

that Ford Falcon

The night the cop shined his

light on us

He looked so funny with rain dripping

off his hat

Yes these memories of us in the rain brings a

smile to my face

But I know tomorrow the sun will shine and

I will be sad

It was a sunny day after the rain that

we said good-bye

Dale Butler

April, 2013

http://www.napowrimo.net/2013/02/napowrimo-2013-is-coming/

O' CAFEINE

Day 7 This one is from a prompt at my weekly writing practice group.

O’ CAFFEINE

Caffeine, caffeine you call to me day and night

Without you I couldn’t make it through a normal day

Alcohol, marijuana and nicotine

Hold no fascination for me

But you, dear caffeine, are my crutch in life

You creep out of that coffee bean and slink into my cup

You sit there on the table send your sweet aroma wafting to my nostrils

You call to me, “You need me, you need me”

You know me better than I know myself

You know I cannot resist your charms

You laugh as my hand reaches for you

You hold me as tightly as a gypsy woman once did

But she knew I could not let her go, so she let me go

I wonder what would it take for you to let me go?

Dale butler, April 2013

http://www.napowrimo.net/2013/02/napowrimo-2013-is-coming/

Harmonic Magic

Day 6   A Valediction

For two years she has been there every Thursday morning. Sitting at my piano, directing me, making me warm up my voice before attempting to sing. She stops me in mid-note, makes me take a deeper breath. Encourages me without fail, but also corrects me when needed. We performed in coffee house open mike sessions. I attended the gigs her band played and will continue to do so. But she wants to move on now to dedicate time to composing and promoting her music. I support her in that, but I don't know what I'll do with my Thursday mornings.
  

HARMONIC MAGIC

No matter the type of relationship

Be it of the soul, the heart, the flesh

When it ends the pain of loss begins

Short or long lived that pain is real

Ours was mostly professional, but at times

When a note was reached, a timing problem solved

A song jelled, high fives given

Professionalism transcended

Hearts touched, so briefly, so lightly

Tearfully gentle, heartbreakingly strong

In harmonic magic; nature ruled

Emotions flowed, like water over a smooth stone

Sometimes we harmonized perfectly

Laughed at mistakes, cried over a sad song

Our hearts reached out to gently caress the other

And for a brief moment we were of one mind and heart

But alas all good things must end

But I believe were it not for the chasm of years

The commitments we have to others

You and I could forever, sail on an ocean of song

Dale Butler

April, 2013

http://www.napowrimo.net/2013/02/napowrimo-2013-is-coming/

Cinquain

 Day 5

This is my attempt at a cinquain. I’m pretty sure I got the syllables right. I’m not so sure about the stresses. I do know I became stressed trying to figure it out, but I’m alright now.

Marriage

Ends and tears fall

The sun doesn’t shine

The children cry for dad

They lose

Dale Butler April 2013 

Observed At The Wall

Day 4

OBSERVED AT THE WALL

With stooped shoulders one hand raised above

his bowed head

He leans into the granite wall in his other hand

pencil and paper

One name among thousands

etched on the paper

a high school friend

an older brother

a prodigal son

a father never known

a fallen comrade

Tears pool at his feet as

the flag is lowered

The last rays of the days sun

dance across the sky

The final notes of retreat fade into

silence on the mall

He leaves a gift and

slowly walks away

The etched paper

heavy in his hand

Dale Butler

April 2013