---

 

This writing was accepted for publication in the 84 page perfect-bound issue... Down in the Dirt magazine (v080) (the March 2010 Issue) This is also available from our printer as a a $7.47 paperback book (5.5" x 8.5") perfect-bound w/ b&w pages

Order this writing in the book (bound) Down in the Dirt poetry edition		order the 5.5" x 8.5" ISSN# book order the 8.5" x 11" ISBN# book

Rain

Dustin Naughton

Joey strained upward, reaching
For the hidden top shelf
Books stacked on a bar stool
Provide a precarious foothold
Grasping, stretching desperately
For unseen wrapped-up purchases
Cool steel! To his delight, fingers touch
Finally taking hold, forbidden treasure!

Walking through my parent’s bedroom door
Unaware
I saw him take it down
Father’s loaded rifle!
“No!” I shouted, “Put it down...now!”
Five years old, precocious, innocent
Joey could not understand

Surprised, caught red handed
Vacillating,
Joey leveled the gun
Aiming straight at my face
“Stick em up!” he hollered
in delight
Click...click! The safety’s on
Lurching forward, frantic
I seized the rifle
Flat handed, I caught his left cheek
Anger, relief, spilling over
“You could have killed me you little shit”

Falling from his Babel tower
Joey ran, crying, howling
Stool tipped over, books spilled
Crashing, creating aftermath
In strode Andy, white as a sheet
Pointing at the rifle
Asked, “What’s going on here?”

I replayed the events
Replacing what had been removed
Hot tears streaking down my cheeks
“That could have been it for me”
Wrapping his arm around my shoulder
Andy said “you did the right thing”

Moments like hours
Father walked in
Lurching forward with clenched fist raised
“If you ever hit your brother again I’ll kill you!”
Fist stuck face, stars and searing pain
He turned and walked away

“That’s it! I’m leaving this place,”
“don’t tell anyone!”
Andy pleaded, “Please don’t go”
It was no good Dad had gone too far
Didn’t care to ask the truth

Back pack in hand
I strode out the back door
To grandma’s, cross town
How hard cold it be, I was eleven?
I didn’t look back, no fear

Dark clouds moved in overhead
Halfway there, in potter’s field
It hailed!
Big as marbles, hard as stones
Blinding, crashing, searing pain
I fled

Hail slowed, the rain came
Droplets like grapes, impossibly fat
I couldn’t tell tears from rain
Then...I heard it
Honk!
Honk!
My father was there

Leaning across the passenger seat
He opened the door
“Please forgive me son, I didn’t know”
My best friend Andy had told him what occurred
Too tired to argue I got in the car
Father smiled, “I’ll never misjudge you again”
A new chapter had begun.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...