- an improv, 11/01 -

they said he had always been unhappy,
eternally miserable, and cold.
he was an old man with one curly gray hair
and blue eyes he could barely see out of.

he was notorious for
his scratchy, gravel-paved voice, which
would habitually scream for the world to
"stay off his daggumin property!"

in response, the boys would make obscene gestures
while kicking around a half-aired soccer ball
with spiked cleats;
effectively uprooting his precious grass.

rumor was that he had been given a puppy
at the ripe age of ten,
only to have the damn yapping thing
get run over by the neighbor on the fourth day.
we concluded that the "incident" --
coupled with a nagging wife and
absent, unfeeling children --
triggered all of his brazenness.

he was our own mr. scrooge,
who popped little yellow pills
without any water, and repainted
his steps a dull brown repeatedly.

some said he was born bitter.
some said he was waiting to die.
some said he was a mad scientist
with cadavers in the basement.
hell, people say a lot of things:

some said, with much impatience
and malice in their tone, that
he would never l e a v e.
well, lucky for them, --
(they didn't have to string
him up and hang him
like his "grandpappy...") -- he did.

11/25/2001

Posted on 11/25/2001
Copyright © 2024 Rachelle Howe