DEAD END

A hand lettered sign

on a flimsy stick said

“Garage Sale,” and gave

the address. I turned down

the Shallow Creek cul-de-sac

to the driveway lined with

jury-rigged tables of concrete

blocks and two-by-eights.

It was mostly just old clothes

and junk, gee-gaws

and old lady stuff.

At the back, though, there

were skulls, leather, and

biker chains in orderly rows.

So I asked the old granny

where she got such stuff.

An ash fell from the cigarette

that clung to her lips,

rheumy eyes turned to mine,

“Those were my man’s. He don’t

ride no more. Had a

brown recluse bite him

on the ankle close to the bone.

They took that leg off

half way down his calf.

he’s in there watching TV.

He don’t ride no more.”

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

and now her man has become a recluse.

Interesting scene you paint so vividly here.
Nicely done, Vol.
we have a lot of those spiders in Southern Illinois...
have to watch out for them.
TV gets old after awhile.
j.

[Vol]

True story from the mid eighties... Those spiders are the worst!