You were the dare-devil one of the three boys as I recall,
Hard to keep rare cousins straight at first.
Tilting burred head and sheepy grin, a Summered older kid than I.
Fellows like you, we young ones watched with awe
hoping someday to wander with your stride.
Dad mocked and teased those boys with grins and proclamations
followed by a wink, he would caw at us a false remorse-
“Better hope I never die or you'll be the ugliest man in the world”,
Billy would just drawl a volley back towards
the sender and the source.
Dusty Jacksboro cricket nights, and buckets of small
army soldiers waging ceaseless wars. Never to tire of ink-smell
rolled soft atop news print. We get to feed yesterday’s old
news back to the maw of the Linotype.
A carpet of discarded pages underfoot. The words not yet right.
BB gun hunts down alley ways, with Daisy’s tight in hand,
the wired birds take to wing, safely to the sky for
Billy was the surer shot, more than Roy and more than me.
Fat-oily-onion air swirled out of Mary’s whispering of dollar French fry heaven.
Ketchup was always free.
A Tiger of the football team, he roamed Jack County miles,
till life's call urged him to go. We lunched with him a time or so,
then perhaps a million days ago he faded far too soon.
Cleaning his gun, one warm May afternoon.
Surely Bill was never meant to be, the ugliest man in the world.
For Billy Dennis my cousin who only made it to 20
April 27, 1954 May 11, 1974
11.8.2011
Hard to keep rare cousins straight at first.
Tilting burred head and sheepy grin, a Summered older kid than I.
Fellows like you, we young ones watched with awe
hoping someday to wander with your stride.
Dad mocked and teased those boys with grins and proclamations
followed by a wink, he would caw at us a false remorse-
“Better hope I never die or you'll be the ugliest man in the world”,
Billy would just drawl a volley back towards
the sender and the source.
Dusty Jacksboro cricket nights, and buckets of small
army soldiers waging ceaseless wars. Never to tire of ink-smell
rolled soft atop news print. We get to feed yesterday’s old
news back to the maw of the Linotype.
A carpet of discarded pages underfoot. The words not yet right.
BB gun hunts down alley ways, with Daisy’s tight in hand,
the wired birds take to wing, safely to the sky for
Billy was the surer shot, more than Roy and more than me.
Fat-oily-onion air swirled out of Mary’s whispering of dollar French fry heaven.
Ketchup was always free.
A Tiger of the football team, he roamed Jack County miles,
till life's call urged him to go. We lunched with him a time or so,
then perhaps a million days ago he faded far too soon.
Cleaning his gun, one warm May afternoon.
Surely Bill was never meant to be, the ugliest man in the world.
For Billy Dennis my cousin who only made it to 20
April 27, 1954 May 11, 1974
11.8.2011
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