Still of the Night
What a mess I’ve made, I thought to myself,
and I sat and stared at his big stack of files
waiting for the lawman to open his yap, start
actin’ all nice-like, his face all smiles.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me,
Yo’ mind’s not complex, so don’t lie or I’ll know .”
He sat down in front of me, right on the edge
of his desk, then said, “Come on, boy, let’s go.”
With a bit of effort, and just to vex ‘im,
I let loose a long and loud fart of gas.
His eyes turned mean, but his face went as pale
as the old teacher lady’s of my first grade class.
All smiles gone, and mad as a hornet
He cuffed my hands tight, shoved me out the door
I knew I was done fer when he drove to the forest
found my tracks, then traced ’em, pushin’ four-to-the-floor
I sat in the back, lookin’ up at the moon
I knew I’d be given lots o’ time I could kill,
I had just one question, hoped he’d answer, “Yes.”
“Could I have one more swaller ‘fore you smash up my still?”
I should be ashamed of myself, but hey! one goes where the words lead. It’s all Brenda’s fault. You don’t put up words together like forest, gas, tracks, and still, and expect an ol’ southern gal like me to come up with any other story! In any event, I’m glad this one’s done – I’ve certainly had enough. . .