SONOFABITCH [prose]

I’m sorry I didn’t kill
Jim Bob Padgett, when I had the chance.
He was lying there in the street
in front of the Black Diamond saloon

in old Ft. Worth, Texas

I coulda put a bullet in his spine,
and no one would have known
he wasn’t really fleeing.

Nor would anyone have cared…

But I didn’t, I let him live.
Later, while he was awaiting trial,
he stopped by my house
and killed my children
and raped my wife
and stole my car and led
my deputy on a merry chase,
that ended when he crashed
into the river.

Later on, the Parson said,
“May God rest his soul”, at his burial.
I don’t even remember what
he said at my children’s.

Sonofabitch…

I’m sorry I did kill Billy Crowder.
He had stolen Emil Guthrie’s car,
and a little bit of money,
and taken Emil’s teenage daughter

for companionship…

When he stepped out of the house
with his hands held high in the air,
I emptied my gun into him.

When one of my deputies shook
me back to reality, I was still
standing over Billy, pulling the trigger.

He had just turned 17 a week ago…

At the inquest, Emil’s daughter
pointed her pale, shaky, white
finger at me, and said,

“Sonofabitch”.

I never did go to jail, the deputy
at the scene planted a gun in Billy’s
hand, and testified that I was
shooting in self-defense…

Everybody in town knew better, though.

The county forced me into retirement,
and I went to work pushing a
wheelbarrow for the railroad.
It was the only other thing
I was trained in, besides shooting.

None of my co-workers had
much to say to me.

Now I live in a nursing home,
paid for by my brother.
He only comes to see me
about once a year, usually
right before Christmas.

He whispers to the nurses,
and they whisper back.

My nurse doesn’t like me,
she says I complain too much,
and I have gas too much,
and I look morbid all the time.

She says I haven’t smiled since I’ve been there.

She must like me some, though,
she has a pet name for me.
I hear her in the hallways, saying,
“Here, take these pills to…

SONOFABITCH”.