. . . a little offputting
he found out he was nearly an undertakers son
it seemed his father exhibited a
critical panache considerable skills for costumes and
stage makeup in high school and as
it was then families preferred to do business
with
family members or extended family who filled the nascent jobs for living
in the city
which was a far cry from the work they did living on the farm
they became carpenters
blacksmithys butchers grocerers tailors and
one an undertaker
the familys undertaker was
thoroughly and intently impressed with his father and
made a grandiose offer to
train him as a mortician
but Korean was raging
and rather than becoming an
undertaker and restoring corpses
he
was drafted and made them
his family is blue collared
it wasnt that they didnt possess
the intellect to become more
they
could have strove to become bankers financiers involved businessmen lawyers or
politicians
and
some may have earnestly considered it if the rest of the family hadnt threatened
to
piss on them for going white collar
the best parts the intregal part of their family were thugs drunkards and womanizers
they had impressive
mugs and physiques they exuded maleness
like exotic spice
and
were extremely tantalizing
when they were younger
but their beast ruttings the beatings and alcohol took their toll
and
the lies that once slipped from capable silver tongues
fell
utterly insincere
they were too weary to work at
them any longer
and who in their right mind stayed
with a bad liar
so blue collared it fit the bill and they black and blue and bruised their
ways through
shorter lives
when he returned home from Korea his
father had his fill of the dead
the
ratcheting he survived also diminished any sense of propriety he once possessed
for the ceremony of the dead
too many shallow ditches hacked
out with E-tools too many bodies tumbled
into them
to
snuff their putrefaction and smell
and home again
he adored flowers
he
couldnt get enough of them and raised them tenderly on their city lot and a garden
sometimes hed see his father kneeling
in the fresh-hoed earth the warm
loam his eyes closed gratefully
an
expression on his uptilted sunlit face Church-like
piety without the Church
his father had his fill of what God
wrought
out it came Very nearly
an undertakers kid earth still on his pantleg sharing a cold
beer on a hot summer day the ballgame playing on the radio behind
them
their team his fathers team
of course it would be their team
had come back four runs down in the bottom of the ninth with two
out
they stole the game
how were the Cards going to swallow that
the cans of beer were good were
beaded with sweat glistened and played
with the sunlight
his father was in a good mood
-- Did I ever tell you this . . .
-- Nah I
would have remembered that
-- What a kick huh
and he ran the can of a beer across his throat on the back of his neck
Aahh cold Almost better than drinkin it
1512, Twosday,
11 11. 14
