That Wasn't Uncle Ray

[good4somethingbum]

That Wasn’t Uncle RayFolks sat fanning themselves with their hymnalsBlack suits hung wet in that humid August heatThe cousin to my right, said Reverend Sloane was up all nightSearchin’ his Good Book for the right verses to readA sober man would’ve left him with kinder words to sayOh but that wasn’t Uncle RayHe useta drive home late from Rusty’s roadhouseOn those camelback hills n rattlesnake curvesAnd while crossin’ Brushy Ridge, he’d scrape rails along the bridgeBut damn if bourbon didn’t steady his nervesHe coulda woke up Aunt Emma lookin’ to have his wayOh but that wasn’t Uncle RayHe bare-knuckle boxed lotsa Saturday nightsRumors said he dropped Kid Tulsa in eightMiss Price had a fainting spell, at red stained fifty dollar billsHe put on Sunday’s collection plateHe coulda given a crisp new fiver that dayOh but that wasn’t Uncle RayHe didn’t have enough face for that briar patch beardSo for years he’d been growin’ whiskers from his earsLost his thumb in a thresher, lost his left eye in Halong BayAs if life whittled him down piece by piece along the waySo I wondered if the vessel of a sinnerCould give shelter to the soul of a saintI shook my head at the waste, looked at his clean shaven faceAnd cried a runnin’ creek at all that remainedCos inside that casket was flesh n bone and clayOh but that wasn’t Uncle RayNow the clothes everyone wore, were the same as two weeks beforeAfter poor Aunt Emma past, no one thought he’d follow so fastBut he went to Rusty’s straight from the graveyardThen drove home on that narrow midnight bridgeEmpty bottle of sour mash, her picture taped to his dashWhen he broke the rail and went over the edgeHe coulda lived on after she slipped awayOh but that wasn’t Uncle RayHe didn’t have enough face for that briar patch beardSo for years he’d been growin’ whiskers from his earsLost his hound when a dam broke, lost the nurse he met in Halong BayAs if life whittled him down piece by piece along the way©2007 Robert George