My right knee caps been hurtin all duh time now,
and I’ve had a sore throat fer almost two months.
Sum days, I have trouble jus gittin off duh floor.
I have tuh roll round like an upside down bug.
I have tuh crawl on dem knuckles o’ mine.
I have tuh make dem old man sounds.
I wanna git my sour gummies from duh kitchen
and eat a handful of em,
long wid sum peanuts,
but I git an apple, a water, and four ibuprofen instead.
I look out duh kitchen windows at my bird feeders.
I reckon dis is my life now.
Where’d I go wrong?
Where’d I go?
I have couple o’ skeeter bites on my arms,
and I wanna scratch em,
but I only know it’ll make dem scab o’er,
as tho my heart ain’t got enuff of dem already,
so I rub my hands o’er dem instead
and become fixed on dem
like e’eryone does wid sumthin on dere body.
I’ll be glad when dat first frost shows up
so dem blood suckin buzzards will quit
and aggravatin duh tarnations outta me.
Dey be as big as ostriches in sum places,
long dem creek banks and wood lines.
Dat ain’t no lie!
I put too much oregano in duh scrambled eggs
duh udder mornin
and I was like,
‘Well, dis sucks,’
but I still ate em cuz,
I guess I sucks too,
plus I tended too much to dem chickens
to jus throw way dere hard work like dat.
All I know is dat
nuthin is worse dan bein constipated.
Where’s duh balance, irregular regularity?
I wish I coulda been a better man
dan what I turnt out to be,
but dere ain’t no changin it
cuz I guess I’m just,
stuck fer now.
Zebra cain’t change dem stripes.
Leopard cain’t change dem spots.
I cain’t change me,
e’en tho I wish I could git rid
of dat mole on my left butt cheek.
Duh people at my job ask me fer cigarette breaks,
and I let dem cuz I miss smokin,
and when dey return
dey smell like one o’ dem Southwestern casinos.
It make me want to go to Vegas again
and rent me a nice fancy convertible car like you see
on dat television of yers.
I’d do dis fer a reason, you know?
I’d ride dat highway out into duh desert
until I ran outta gas,
and disappear dere fore’er,
while thirstin to death
and ne’er come back to dis farmland,
to duh humid, rugged ruralness of duh country,
cuz I’d rather die in peace where ain’t no one is
dan die where e’eryone pretends I am.
Time ticks till it finally happens.
Time ticks till it finally.
Time ticks till it.
Time ticks till.
As duh corn gits taller, tassels out,
turns brown, and gits harvested –
As duh baccer leafs turn green
and dem workers come to pick where I used to
earn money and have memories of daddy –
As duh soybeans grow and feeds dem hungry deer,
it slowly dryin out, soundin like snakes rattles
when you run through it and
it brush gainst yer kneecaps –
As duh cotton slowly turns into fields of
stringy white pearls and picked into
rectangles as big as winnebagos,
us kids jumpin from one to duh udder,
lyin on dem while lookin up at dat blue sky –
As duh wheat turns green to brown and
duh ghost waves blow through dem wid dat wind,
and you be dodgin dem harvesters
on duh backroads when pickin time comes
and hope dem fiery fields don’t
smoke out yer next barbecue when it come time to
burn em down,
dat’s when I start feelin sumthin deep in my bones.
Whate’er it is,
it begins to eat at my insides.
I find myself wantin to escape.
It begins to eat at my.
I find myself sayin to myself,
‘I ain’t gunna raise my kids ere.’
It begins to eat at.
I find myself not bein able to find myself
when I should be able to find myself
in duh one place where I can’t be myself
cuz myself ain’t good enuff.
It begins to eat.
I cain’t assimilate.
It begins to.
I need to be free.
I need to run.
Somethin inside me is changin,
dat’s fer sure!
I eat sandwiches four outta five days of duh work week.
Peanut butter and jelly.
Ham n cheese, no mayo.
I do dis cuz I have to.
It be a choice I chose to choose.
I need to save money so I can buy somethin I need,
like a nose hair trimmer wid dem fancy LED lights.
I eat sandwiches to save duh world.
Wid each bite, dat sandwich be gitten thicker and thicker
until I cain’t no longer breathe.
Is dis life as an adult?
Is dis what I rushed my childhood fer?
I miss when home used to feel like home.
I miss when home used to feel like.
I miss when home used to feel.
I miss when home used to.
I miss when home used.
I miss when home.
I miss when.
I gave my sandwich away cuz I couldn’t
force my throat to swallow it down.
I already have to do dat wid my pride –
day after day.
Wid my confidence –
month after month.
Wid my dream –
year after year.
Sum people be givin more dan jus dere sandwich away,
and I know how dey feel,
but not really
cuz I ain’t took it to dat level yet
and ne’er will.
I remind myself dat duh bread and jelly
ain’t duh bad guy here.
Dat devil is.
I’m jus waitin on dat angel to come help me out
e’ery now and then,
if it ain’t already.
I work duh late shift from time to time.
I’m beaten, whipped, and tired,
like my fourteen year old truck.
I drive home.
People litter duh highways.
I ask myself,
“what are these idiots doin out?”
I curse dem into duh ground.
I shout at dem as tho dey hear me.
Dey stop me from gittin home,
by drivin ten under duh speed limit,
by cuttin me off,
by headin fer duh nearest drive thru,
by grocery shoppin,
by lookin dere next buzz,
by bein unsettled.
I scorn dem cuz,
if I ain’t workin,
I’d be on duh couch o’ mine,
in my underwear,
I ain’t ne’er seen anythin like it.
Durin summer time at night,
I like to go lookin dem lightnin bugs.
You only see dem when dey flicka
dem green lights fer dem few seconds.
I wish people was more like dem lightnin bugs
and I was duh kid wid duh mason jar,
wid holes poked in duh lid,
runnin round and trappin duh magic
till it finally died a couple days later cuz it
wasn’t in its home surroundins
and cain’t breathe.
Maybe I’m dat trapped lightnin bug?
Maybe I’m dat trapped lightnin?
Maybe I’m dat trapped?
Maybe I’m dat?
I watch duh news on all duh screens.
I wish dem masks filtered all dem lies and deceit
like it does dem pathogens, bad breath, and fake smiles.
All o’ us need to take a breath fer once
and sneeze in peace
and be able to complain bout a runny nose
widout sumone thinkin we always carryin sumthin.
I cain’t believe I put too much
oregano in dem scrambled eggs o’ mine.
I cain’t believe my knee is on duh fritz
and I’m dis young.
I cain’t believe I hate corn stalks as much as I does.
I cain’t believe I.
God, maybe I need to take a breath fer once.
I know I ain’t duh only one dat feels like dis.
And if I’m admittin facts,
I’d like to say dat white people struggle too,
jus as much as e’eryone else,
but e’eryone is scared to see or think or say it.
I know duh more we all focus on color,
duh more we become duh same color –
and most o’ us is already ignored
to duh point dat we past duh angry phase
and are settlin into duh self acceptance phase
‘I’d better off dead dan alive.’
Death comes for e’ery one of us,
irregardless of what our skin color be.
Some be scared to admit dat,
but I ain’t cuz it’s true,
and when we be scared to speak duh truth,
then all life on Earth is in peril,
and I think it ain’t right to glorify one race
at duh expense of another,
so les jus all agree dat life be more rewardin
if e’eryone treated e’eryone more better,
and we shared our sandwiches from time to time
widout expectin anythin in return,
and when you scramble yer next batch o’ eggs
jus skip duh oregano altogether.
One thing I do miss is fishin wid daddy,
momma’s home cookin,
and grandmama’s flour bread.
Dat daddy o’ mine always had sum good stories.
He e’en said he saw dem lights in duh sky,
down near duh river bank one night.
Man’s face ne’er moved a muscle
when he tell dat story.
I think it be duh shine talkin, but fer him,
it won’t no joke to be laughin bout.
He was as dead as dead serious can be.
He sweared he’d seen sumthin
up in dat sky dat one night,
and dem jets from dat nearby base came
and chased dem lights back in duh black yonder.
To dis day, I still wonder.
I ain’t smoked a cigarette in o’er six years,
after havin been a smoker fer a decade.
I really miss dem flamin treats, jus as much as
I miss playin hide n seek in duh cornfields
dat I used to love when I was a kid,
back when I didn’t despise seein dem farmers
plant dem same ole stalks e’ery single year.
I didn’t used to feel like dis.
I didn’t used to feel like.
I didn’t used to feel.
I didn’t used to.
I didn’t used.
My disguised discontent fer certain thangs
has no boundaries,
but you’d ne’er know
cuz my discontented disguise
has no boundaries.
People always drawin dem lines in duh sand
and dare’in me to step o’er dem
and I laugh to myself
and walk round dem
and give dem sumthin to think bout
as I walk away and wonder
which store is carryin my favorite candy
and how much of a pain it gunna be
to stop dere durin rush hour traffic.
When dat mind starts wanderin,
tis sumthin else to see where it goes
and duh places it lead you
from time to time.
I don’t like changin much,
but dere be sum people who act like dey do.
Dem be duh ones you have to keep yer eye on.
Duh ones who have to change wid duh seasons
and ain’t ne’er content,
dey duh ones dat kick dat beeshive
den complain bout gittin stung.
I guess dat’s bout it fer now.
Sumtimes, I don’t know nuthin.
Sumtimes, I know e’erythin.
Sumtimes, I know nuthin bout e’erythin.
Sumtimes, I know e’erythin bout nuthin.
All I know is dat my mind gits workin
and dat squeaky wheel drowns out dem
udder thoughts I oughta be listenin to.
Dat’s when dat cycle start again
and I gotta put my feet back on duh ground
fore I start driftin away from
who I wanna be as a man
as to who I used to be as dat same man.
Irregardless, life is life,
and dat is dat,
and my britches feel tight today fer sum reason,
and I ain’t got much more to relate cuz
all I know right now is dat too much
oregano will mess up dem scrambled eggs of yer’s.
I used to could feel more dan dis.
I used to could feel more dan.
I used to could feel more.
I used to could feel.
I used to could.
I used to.
I could learn you a couple thangs
if y’all would let me
but I know all of you’s already judged me
jus by duh way I sound,
I guess e’erybody could learn people
things if dey wasn’t so hard headed and
stuck in dem ways of theirs.
Hell, maybe duh whole world,
if dey ain’t as hard headed as me.
Dere jus ain’t no tellin.
Not in dat world of ours today!
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2 Replies to “The Sophisticate Hick”
That was great. Very entertaining and true. I loved it. Keep up the great writing. Love you
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. I appreciate you reading it. I will try. Love you too.