Sunday, December 19, 2010

Once, During A Viewing Of Smokey & The Bandit

Once, During A Viewing Of Smokey & The Bandit

I'm staring eastbound and down,
loading up my shit
and about to truck it,
as Melanie sits on the couch.
Her eyes forward,
only noticing our end
in the few moments
I cross the TV.

"If you're going to the store, good buddy,"
she says, like talking over a cb-radio,
"why don't you get me some beer
and smokes?  Over."
She calls them smokes
--has forever--
just drives my sack across a rake.

But it was no straw--
not when blackmailed pictures
find wrong hands.
Not when a tape exists.
A back-alley finger-fest
destined for Youporn or worse.

I look at the television, my TV,
my copy of S and TB blaring.
It's a good gift to go out on--
silence and a few thousand feet
of Southern celluloid.
She won't notice for hours--
not until the nicotine
and her liver
speak out of turn--
a rage unseen since the day
I intercepted her sins
and cleansed them
with the father
of our little boy.

--Jason L. Huskey is a multitasking office tech from central Virginia. His work has appeared in a few dozen journals, including decomP, Keyhole Magazine, Plain Spoke, and Word Riot.

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