Check Shirts and Pickup Trucks

A short story with apologies to Raymond Carver

The first snow lay rigid on the ground as a posse of men in check shirts moved stealthily around the frame and tar paper buildings of our town.

Who’s they, Pa? I asked.

Them’s dee-vor-cees, Son, my Pappy said, spitting a great gob of chewin’ tobacco across our porch, hitting my Mama, an angular-framed silent woman, square in the face.

What’s they lookin’ for, Pappy? I asked.

Love, he replied, eyes wistfully on the middle distance, they ain’t got none.

Gee, Pa, that’s sure tough, I sighed, but who’s that other posse at Cheever’s store?

That’s the critics, my Pappy said to the sunset, they’s a-here to pick the bones.

Is that good, Pappy? I asked, my voice incised like the Chinook north-wester.

Don’t reckon it is, Pa said, but it’s good for book sales so we tolerates it.

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under black humor, black humour, humor, literary parody, parody, poetry, whimsy

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s