A Thing of the Past

[couchgrouch]

A Thing of the PastThe barber was silent, as Joe's hair fell to the floorthe rhythm of the scissors, danced Joe back to '44when his mom was a widow, who met a man at churchshe thought hell was being lonesome, but lonely love is worsehe drove a rumbleseat Rambler, owned some rocky southwest landsoon after they married, she felt the back of his handhe'd say the men in his house, must look hard and meansat Joe in the kitchen, shaved him like a Marinehis mama's tears became a permanent maskthat said morning was a thing of the pastwell, Joe climbed out his window, down that twisted oakhis mother's cuts and bruises, was his only notebut it's funny how running, leads where you were beforethe best of Joe's legal choices, was joining the Corps.of all the boys in bootcamp, some were desp'rate...all were bravewhen Joe saw that old barber, his skull was already shavedhe saw the horror and beauty of blood in high grassbut his fam'ly still wasn't a thing of the pastrifles never fired, bibles with bulletholesrice wine was Joe's woman, during passes in Seoulbut all the death and fighting, seemed like nothing comparedto finding his mom at home, beaten like no one caredwell, Joe shot his step-dad, stuffed him in that rumbleseatBorder Patrol saw buzzards, circling some tumbleweedsand after that quiet barber, shaved off all his hairthey walked Joe down a hallway, and strapped him in a chairhis mother watched with her mask against the glasscos the men in her life were a thing of the past(c)2005 Robert George