Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Mother Earth

Mother Earth, when will your people change their ways?
Will there come a time, when we’ll see better days?
It’s my gut feeling, it’s not to be in our life time, that’s all I’ll say.
Your rivers have run long, and your trees have grown free,
But, few people care as they should; and frankly,
that’s no way to be.
Mother Earth, you’ll always be home to me.

Mother Earth, why do your inhabitants not see?
What they are doing to the land; its seas;
Dear Earth, this Native man sees...
And I know this carelessness shouldn't be.
They’re killing us all, with their careless greed.
It is my wish, we would all come together, and do
Whatever we can do, to love, honor, and protect you.
Mother Earth, you most of all; know what I say is true.

Mother Earth, how can people say they don’t care about helping out?
To clean up our land and set it right, seems to draw their mouths in a pout.
Why can’t more of your people lend a hand?
The Indian people, and a few others, are the only ones who understand.
But, one day people will know it, when they drop like flies;
But by then, will it be too late?
Let’s just see how they feel, when they realize they signed their own fate.
Mother Earth, I just wanted to let you know,
I’ll be the voice that says, I told them so.

America is my Native home;
This is where my ancestors use to roam,
Back when it was called the great Turtle Island.
Just like it says in the song, “America, the Beautiful;” this is our land.
It was untouched, pristine, not like now, its beauty, all but wiped away.
We took care of our Mother Earth, and
We still encourage people, every day,
To do so, in everything we do; yes, even in this age, and even today.

But the mere mention
Of cleaning up our home; this is offensive
To some people, who look down their noses,
And they strike angry poses,
Claiming such a suggestion
Is a total outrage, and they go on the defensive.

I can’t stop from wondering how they’ll feel; when Earth goes sailing off through space,
Like a spinning baseball hit by a Louisville slugger...”wham!”... Right into the sun.
Mother Earth will someday put her babies in their places;
For she’s given us, chance after chance;
And she’s not happy at how her people keep on littering, and spitting in her face.
Mother Earth, many of your people have shown themselves as a disgrace.
It’s time to take care of our Mother...we are no longer suckling children;
We need to stand up and take on our responsibility; quit this procrastinational sin.
We need to admit, most things wrong here, we did it, so how to fix it?
We need to be more alert to what things we do, that could harm the place we live.
Careless acts, like tossing a cigarette butt out a window,
While driving through a drought ridden land
Will result in a forest fire that can turn into a destruction of property, and
Can even cause homelessness and deaths.
Be aware; thoughtless action is the main way sadness comes to be.
If we’re gonna do a difficult job, then by all means, do it the right way. That’s how to be.
JD Couch and JA Wayahowl (2-5-2013)

Sunday, January 13, 2013

Ballad of the Senior Citizen (And Other Good Shit)

Ballad of the Senior Citizen (And Other Good Shit)

Listen to me, people, and gather all around;
Let this old man tell you how it’s going to go down.
If you’re looking for me; Paw-Paw Louie,
Well then, check out the nearest Senior Center; that’s where I’ll be.
I go there to play billiards, checkers, and bingo and watch TV
Or maybe I’ll be at Mc’D’s having my cuppa Daily Senior coffee;
In some places, ya know, we old’uns can get it for free.
Yep, even a biscuit or a sandwich, made especially for me.
If it’s past breakfast, I can order a free senior Micky-D Tea;
Welcome to the ballad of the Senior Citizen; that’s me.

These young folk, these days, are just plain mean.
The way they act around others; it’s an ugly scene.
They say we’re swiveled up, like prunes in an old paper bag;
The younger generation cries out at us older gentlemen
They’ll say such names as Gramps, and ‘slow old man’;
And to the women, not just Granny,
But they disrespectfully call her, ‘hey, Witch-hag.’

They think they are the stuff, being rude,
They hate the fact we’re slow and don’t prance.
We can’t get out and trot or spin or run or dance.
Or keep the speed up they can, and if we intrude,
Because we understand, how they enhance
Their moves with artificial means,
They hate us all the more, because we dare
To warn them to watch out, and declare
They will regret it one day, but they refuse
To believe they can ever be wrong.

They can be quite uncouth,
But their feeling’s they express as truth,
Because, you won’t find such youth
Anywhere around the Senior Center;
After all, “old folks are ‘the drag’...
We just ‘bring them down.’
We ain't no fun, and they’ll be glad...
When, we’re ‘pushin-up daisies!’

Well, regardless how the young’uns feel,
We senior people have our pride.
Yes, some of us have carried our great country’s Flag,
And we would gladly do it, again.
(Once a soldier, always a soldier; once a patriot, always a patriot)
We still carry it and we will uphold it, until we reach our end,
And a flag will cover our coffins, when we go to our graves.
Listen, this is my story; the Ballad of the Senior Citizen.

So you young people, you can try to tune this old man out;
You can plug your ears and listen to Heavy Metal or Rap, and pout.
But when you take a break, I’ll still fill your ears;
So just play like you don’t hear;
But listen to me, and listen well,
Because a day will come, it’s my words you’ll recall.
This is a story I’m bound and determined to tell;
I’m not gonna scream it at ya, I don’t have to yell.
We have more history in us than you’ll ever get to hear.
Why is it we demand respect, you so often wonder;
Our reply will simply be (get real...or go to hell!)
Guess what, noggin; we used to be just like you,
Now, we’re the ones in the rocking chair taking this shit.
Yep, this is the Ballad of the Senior Citizen (and other good shit.)

People come here looking for me: asking for Paw-Paw Louie.
I’m a widower; outlived my wife by several years...
Sometimes, I have to make a recount
I forget just how long it’s been; I even forget how long
I've been coming to this Senior Center.
Yep, my name is Paw-Paw Louie;
I hope you understand just what I am saying.
Oh, here comes that pretty little thing in the candy stripe top,
“Nurse, nurse, can you step over here?’
“Paw-Paw Louie, What is it you need today...
And mind your fingers; don’t you dare pinch me,
Or I won’t come back around to be goosed. Don’t laugh, you dirty old man.”
Honey, I’m horny; and still gotta taste...for, pretty young lassies!”
I say, and she knows just where my eyes are focused, as I ask,
“If I had a fortune... you’d marry me; wouldn't you, Missy?”

Well, I've had my jaws rung like a bell,
 for having too much brass.
Some will jump and scream oh me, oh my!
 As I buzz them on the ass.
I've heard others say how,
 ‘Ole Louie’s laugh would ring out,
And only a piddle or a puddle would stop the fit.
Being as I’d have to go home if I peed my pants, I admit
I usually try hard not to get too carried away.
I ride a taxi transit to and from
 the Senior Center, every week day.

Some days, it’s so boring; I’ll just sit and doze,
 with my head in my hand.
I’ll nap or daydream, recalling way back
 when I was a young dude.

Back then, I was the handsome stud, 
and I had any gal I wanted, and
Back in that day, it’s true,
 many a sexy lass
 was after my ass.
I was a decorated Navy Man, a Veteran
Who fought valiantly
 for both God and Country!
During the time, a man in uniform
 didn't do no chasing skirts.
All I had to do, if I wanted a date,
 was to stand still and wait.

Next thing I knew, a tap on the shoulder
 and a pretty smile would offer her arm.
We’d hook elbows, and likely
 spend the night together,
Because I was on shore
 for just a few hours,
 and then I’d go back to sea...
And it didn’t matter
 what shore I stepped on,
Women flagged me down...and honey...
I knew how to make ‘em moan.

But back at home, a girl 
I’d had a crush on, haunted me;
To my utter amazement, 
she’d seemed not to know I existed! ME!
This special gal I never could forget...her name
 was Martha Lace;
The weird thing is, every girl
 I ever had, they wore her face!)
(That’s a secret I never
 told anyone, until lately)
So soon as I got back home,
 I bee-lined it over to Martha’s house,
I set out to make her mine, yes;
 she wasn't like the rest,
The only way to keep her was to
 have her as my wife; she was the best!

And as quick as I could, I asked for her hand;
We got married, and I settled down, in love, 
and growing old with my wife.
Martha was smart and was the best cook;
 she could chop like a ninja with her knife!
She didn’t put up with no nonsense; 
she could read me like a book!
And when she was pissed off,
 I always got that ‘look.’

But I’d fallen head over heels for Martha;
 I was the most devoted of men;
As soon as we were engaged,
 there was never another woman for me.
Funny thing: she’d thump my ear,
 if I stared at any woman other than her.
She had my respect, my love and my attention,
 in and out of the bedroom.
One time, a woman tried to lure me aside;
 what a temptress;
I told her she better hope Martha never found
Out she’d tried to seduce me,
 because it would be her doom;
Martha would dice her up like carrots and potatoes,
 and toss her in a kettle
And cook her over a bonfire;
 while she war-danced, in victory.
It scared the dame so bad, she moved out of town.
Fondly, I recall how dear Martha’s temper
 caused her to bop me with her cookbook.
Not because of the harlot, but because I’d been drinking;
She said, “I won’t tolerate a drunk.”
It was the last time I ever took a drink; and man,
Oh, how the bed springs sang that night.

Well, they don’t call me Paw-Paw Louie for nothing;
I've got five kids, fifteen grand-kids, and two great grand-kids
...and that’s something
To smile about; because I’m still kicking...
That’s some good seed-sewing.
If there are any kids, in other countries...
I never heard tell; which is good,
Martha would have died,
 if one had showed up...saying ‘hello, daddy.’
I've wondered...but I’m content; having a family,
With Martha, made my life complete.

This senior citizen is a patriot, like I said before.
I once bore the flag, and
 I fought the good fight,
And I lost blood for the country I love.
I was in the Navy, and riding
 the waves was the life.
Now, I’m old and wrinkled and forgetful
Of what happened five minutes ago;
But one thing remains the same,
I’m back on that ship
 in the blink of an eye;
I remember the men who
 were my friends
 and my brothers;
Many died or lost limbs.
I came back whole in body,
 but a different man inside;
I came back a warrior,
A man who knew
 he’d killed hundreds of enemies,
But those men were just like me.
I’ll remember my time
 in the Navy and my stay in Vietnam.
I’m an American, until the day I die;
And by gum, I’ll jump on any snot-nose
Speaking lowdown shit about this great country,
They have so many privileges which
 other places wish they had, but don’t;
We fight to keep our rights, and
 I don’t tolerate cowards or fools.
Paw-Paw Louie is the Son of Uncle Sam;
I am, I am, I'm the Son of Uncle Sam!
Us Guys, we fought our asses off
 to keep USA free;
And so many here, they treat
 Vets like we are forgotten trash;
Yeah, the way we are’s like they say...
”What you do, it ain't worth a damn.”
The heroes lie there in the graves; many with no names;
Taken down in war, battle is no game,
But the ones who have survived;
We carry the fight in soul and memory.
We remember what no man should need to know.
It’s in our dreams and our minds,
Whether we want it there or not; horrors 
we can’t block out or shake off.
We hate the dark; it brings back the night terrors.
We hate loud noises; we think of missiles;
And bombs, and tanks and machine-guns,
And cannons, and bazookas, and landmines;
Now can you understand why we hate
 the boom-box, thrumming?
Of these cars, passing by in the streets;
this high-pitched humming and rapping...
It ain't cool to me.

Are you interested in my stories about the
War in ‘Nam; out there, in the cane-break swamp?
Yeah I was there; I did tour on land...part
Of my time was spent where they put me.
Paw-Paw Louie, that’s me, 'ask me what you will;
I may or I may not tell YOU, but ask.
Some things are too much to share;
 it ain't anything against you.
That is the truth; the grave yards will show you
The same; and in silence, we remain,
Living or dead; we take it to the grave;
Horrors on the battlefield;
Terrors of the chill they yield; terrors,
 oh, the chills they yield!
Yes, that war lasted from 1959 to 1975, and
It’s a wonder any of our soldiers
Even came back alive...I came back,
I was a Navy man, and I was not a foot-soldier.

Yes, it is a wonder, but the haunts
Of the battlefield linger in all survivors
We came home, many with medals for our acts;
Living warriors, no longer in action;
Yes we all found it hard to adjust;
We go through the motions for our nation.
We have flashbacks; it is hell;
Many of us believe we were in hell;
Maybe that’s why we feel numb to ‘sin’s fate’
Because we passed through the gate
And came back; 
we survived the worst, and we just wait
For the final end to come...and wonder why we made it,
But others didn’t, and why was that?
What was the truth of that fated decision?
Were our genes in the mix for the future?
While some others was food for the fodder
Of the war machine...our life is just a dream?
This is a story I just have to tell;
We old‘uns have more history than you, under one finger nail.
We demand respect, if you don’t like it?
Our reply will simply be (OH, WELL.)
Yep, this is the Ballad of the Senior Citizen (and other good shit.)

Well, there are children...pre-teens, mostly, who seek me.
They came, saying, “Paw-Paw Louie,
We want to hear the old war stories.”
I do have many stories I will tell;
But I have to keep them toned down.
This is story-telling to youngsters, after all!
I say, “Kids, I've seen many things, besides just war,
And of that you can be sure. Do you love music?”
And they yell, ‘Yeah!’
So I say, well, hear
This: the great festival event which formed 
the groundwork for Rock,
I was THERE;
I was at Woodstock,
And I stayed from start to finish;
I heard all 32 sets, and that includes the time
Abbie Hoffman broke in with his rant;
That was right before Jefferson Airplane around
 six in the morning;
I had been dozing because it was the Who...
And there was Abbie Hoffman jumping up, and blathering...
And next thing, with a Townsend twirl of elbow
 and guitar, slam
-Drop; Abbie flew Head first off the stage;
Or on purpose...the incident was a spit in the face
 of the Who,
But then old Abbie, he always was a Robin Hood
Figure; protesting against Vietnam;
And though I could agree with some of his
 sentiments, it is true...
As a soldier of self-same war, a Vet, I 
can’t find him
As anyone I’d want around me; the Yippie;
He was a Leftist and the FBI and CIA
 both had him on their lie.
Heard he passed on, in ’89...he was 52 
when he died.
He was younger than me.

People claim to have been there; maybe they were;
We were all strangers sharing an exciting,
As well as miserable, unforgettable,
Catalystic festival that is still a concert to die for;
I was the guy flicking the Bic for John Fogarty and
Creedence Clearwater Revival, early
In the morning while most everybody snoozed;
John sang Bad Moon Rising just for me;
Grateful Dead had jammed right before them,
And their song ‘Turn on your Love Light’ blew
The amps, which had to be repaired
Before Creedence could come on; the crew
Rushed so the next band could do their songs,
They were my favorite band up on stage;
They were there around one
In the morning, of Sunday morning;
It all started on Friday, August Fifteenth,
With a Swami...he was quite the sage
This was a gathering of music;
A reaching out for peace, love, and unity

It went on through Saturday
The sixteenth and then on Sunday,
The last to perform was Jimi Hendriks;
He jammed at nine in the morning,
A lot of the crowd had enough
And was gone or leaving; it was exhausting,
But liberating, we sang, we played mud-bugs,
Ate mud pies and magpies,
And whatever else we could roust up or just was
A psychedelic flower power time anyway;
We rolled in mud, slept in mud,
We skinny-dipped in the pond, we danced, and we flashed;
We chanted a rain song... “Rain, rain, go away,
Come again another day”;
We passed dope and we passed out.

We made love or just made out...we
 were free liberal spirits
With any inhibitions shucked off like a second skin
Our bodies were works of art and
Clothes were peeled fast as a banana is peeled.
It was August, it was hot, it was wet, 
and it was humid in day,
It was chilly at night. Yeah, some felt fright;
Some freaked out; they had
 bad trips...LSD was used; it wasn't just Pot.
There weren't enough tents
 or blankets or food or port-a-pots.
When it rained so badly, some retreated 
back to their parked cars and vans,
Women lost babies, and birthed babies,
Somebody got run over by a tractor and died;
Somebody overdosed, we screamed, we cried,
We laughed, we dreamed, we rocked...and 
come to find out,
Half a million people was there;
 it turned out to be a blast!
They had thought upwards of
 two hundred thousand, tops;
Hippies had a the Governor
Contemplated on the need to put a stop
To all these people and the crimes that would occur,
Without security steps; an attempt to save
Face; so he was all set on sending out
The National Guard;
We got drift of that news, some 
of us...but he backed off;
We were decent; we were on a musical wave
And our drive was peace, love, unity.
This is a story I just have to tell;
We old‘uns have more history than you, under one finger nail.
We demand respect, if you don’t like it?
Our reply will simply be (OH, WELL.)
Yep, this is the Ballad of the Senior Citizen (and other good shit.)

Yeah, I’d rather tell about the times when
Amazing things happened to me.
Every time I think about some parts of my past, I just want to cry.
But hey, kids, since you asked for more, here’s this.
I worked with Bozo, the clown, for one summer in 1965, for
 Charlotte, NC's WBTV Channel 3 station
when Martha and I needed extra money;
Whatever Bozo needed me to do, in backstage stunts,
I was there to rig it up.
Bozo had me be the man in the cannon, but
The added touch had me dressed in a dog suit;
I was Bobo, the loyal dog of Bozo, the clown...
Yep, I was a mutt.

Bozo's dog, Bobo; the kids loved me: Bobo!
I’d hop around on all fours; the costume was baggy and brown;
Bobo, a Collie Lab mix; really smart and loved doing tricks.
And Bobo would jump through the dreaded ring of fire.
That was dangerous, too; a time or two my suit caught fire.
The head mask had big eye holes and a fake tongue that
Would pop out when I shook the head down;
Bobo was a pack-dog; I also, carried things attached to my back;
Bozo, he’d walk over to the kids gathered in a cluster on benches
And he’d start his spiel, asking them
If they wanted to see what Bobo had in his bag?
He’d grin, his famous grin; his red hair was very pointed,
On each side of his head;
Meanwhile, here sits Bobo, and
I sit up on my knees and beg, and bark ‘yes!’
Bozo patted my head while the kids all yelled, ‘yes we want to see!’
That’s when Bobo would run around and around.
Bozo takes off, he’s chasing me and we’d cut up as funny as we could.
I’d stay just ahead of him; he wasn't supposed to catch me.
The kids loved this routine.

They’d laugh like crazy when Bobo would run upright like a man,
Or do somersaults or climb things or trip or whatever,
While staying just ahead of Bozo, tweeting a whistle,
And yelling; ‘Stop, Bobo, stop, Bad Dog!’
Suddenly, good old Bobo would skid to a stop,
Usually, wherever the dash had started out.
This was when Bobo picked out one of the kids
And I’d cling to the child, whimpering, looking at the kid as a savior.
And then Bozo would say to the kid, ‘okay, it is up to you;
Do we open the bag on his back, today, and find out what’s in it?’

The amazing thing is, sometimes, the kid would say no;
And if he or she said no, then Bobo would lie down and refuse to budge.
Bozo would ask, “Do you want to see
What is in that bag that makes Bobo upset, Carrie?”A nod and I was ready.
Everyone got to see me jump up, pulling a string
And out would spring a shower, like a piƱata full of all kinds of goodies;
Bobo would then jump and bark, while the kids ran for the goodies.
Bozo always tried to get the kids to say yes, so they would get the treats.

Yes, Bozo the Clown, wanted to teach the kids, when one said no,
That was the day Bozo would say, “We
Must respect others wishes, and show them kindness.
That’s the way we should get along in life,
And let’s give it our best.
You see, children, everything in life, just think of it as a test.”
And he’d treat that one kid with special attention;
He or she was a rare child.
He would always give each child a small Bozo toy as they were leaving,
But the child, who’d said no, would get a special gift going home;
A certificate of recognition of daring to not go
With the crowd; but to stand up for their own decision;
He didn't make this known, but he always hoped for
The kid who refused to act as the rest
And would that kid would show a poor tired dog some concern;
When it was time to retire as Bobo; well, Paw-Paw Louie
Left that job very impressed by the world’s greatest clown.
Here’s what was on that certificate:
Courage and strength is the way life should be;
Love your life and live it morally.

So, you young people listen, and listen well,
This is a story I just have to tell;
We old people have more history
Than, you’ve got dirt under one finger nail;
We demand respect, and we will entertain you well;
But if you scoff or curse,
Our reply will simply be a yawning (OH, WELL.)
That’s the story of the senior Citizen (and other good shit.)

My life is an epic; many things have I seen
And many places I have been;
To some I might say, Look-a-here, dude, take for instance,
I was there when the shot was fired that was heard around the world.
I’m glad God helped me make it through so much strife in my life.
I’m glad he stayed with me, even when
I was a rebel-hearted man out on my luck.
I came a long way, and ended up with many fences to mend.
I did my duty and came home, settled down, but I kept on truckin.’

To another, I might say, Hey, man, check it out;
I was at Marilyn Manson’s funeral.
What? Marilyn Manson ain't dead? Like hell, you say, and he’s a man?
A Rock star that does what? Oh, NO;
Don’t even tell me, I’d rather not know.
And no, I don’t mean Charles Manson, either; I know that ain't right.
Then we gotta mistaken identity going here; yes, that’s right.
Oh, I think I said it wrong; not Manson...but Monroe.
Surely, you've heard of Marilyn Monroe, the blond bombshell?
But I was also in Dallas when her lover, President JFK was killed;
I've lived all over these United States from Maine to Texas to Alaska to Hawaii,
There are only two states I never set foot in, even though I was on all sides;
And that’s New Hampshire and Idaho...; do not ask me, how I missed ’em, at all.

Marilyn Monroe, gorgeous, voluptuous gal, no bony-phony;
She puts these Twiggy-sticks to shame...
Marilyn was every man’s dream-girl.
She embodied the girl you can wrap your arms around
And feel in Heaven, not lost inna boneyard. She was a pearl.
I mean sorry how my mind went fizzy, uh, fuzzy, it does that sometimes,
But it is clear as the ocean is blue in the summertime,
When it’s things of the past I’m recalling.
Paw-Paw Louie, I tell ya, you young people,
Listen here to what is said
This is a story I just have to tell;
We old‘uns have more history than you, under one finger nail.
We demand respect, if you don’t like it?
Our reply will simply be (OH WELL.)
This is the Ballad of the Senior Citizen (and other good shit.)

The kids stare at me; they are confused,
And one insists I’m lying; now that’s rude,
I got no need or call to lie, young tyke; one day
You’ll tell truths and be accused.
You’ll think back to me, and then you’ll believe me, dude.
But OK, Paw-Paw Louie gotta let it go;
I don’t care if you believe me; it’s this way.
Oh, nope don’t mention any Marilyn Manson; he’s immaterial to me,
But as for Marilyn Monroe, the actress, I was at her funeral;
Sure it was one of the most unforgettable events of my long life.
Suicide, according to the coroner, but was it?

Would you mind, snippet, not to interrupt?
I told you I never met that lil’ fella who had the killer family
And told them to kill the pregnant woman and her friends;
Yes, that lil’ dude; he’s in the pen and there, he’ll meet his end.
I got nothing else to say on that topic, thank you very much.
This is a story I just have to tell;
We old‘uns have more history than you, under one finger nail.
We demand respect, if you don’t like it?
Our reply will simply be (OH WELL.)
Yep, this is the Ballad of the Senior Citizen (and other good shit.)

Paw-Paw Louie, that’s me; hold a second, gotta itch on my nose,
Alright, now this I mentioned; this I know, and it goes
Like this: On the shooting of JFK...I got this to say,
As the cars rode by, the crows gathered at the edge of the road.
They say the gunshot came from that book storage building
On the opposite side of the street;
Others say the shot came from
A stretch right there on the road.

Me: Paw-Paw Louie, I was there; and I’ll say, although I
Don’t remember names of things that good; I do remember this:
All the people on the street damn near shit.
I was there on that Dallas Street and there came the motorcade.
As the convertible drew near, the cheers were so loud made you near deaf;
And the car came closer; I was standing mere feet from the car;
The bodyguard in the front seat made a twist around
Looking right at Ms. Jackie, the wife; hey I know what I saw.
He was looking right past the governor at Jackie and they looked eye to eye;
She was wide eyed and her eyes grew wider;
And then up came his gun...he shot the president;
And just as quick; from the road,
An agent shot that bodyguard.
Yep, the president’s top of his head went plop, right in Jackie’s lap.

As to there being any shot from a building where books were stored,
I think that was a diversion, cooked up later.
Just a bit later, they caught Oswald, who was quickly snuffed so
He couldn't deny his part in the killing of the King of Camelot, as
Some romantically referred to Mr. Kennedy as.
From what I could surmise, Oswald had it coming, little Russian spy
That he was, and all; he married a Russian woman...none of ours
Was good enough for him, heh; the prick had turned traitor.
He got his come-uppance, but he was shot not for that, but it gave them a patsy.
Otherwise, he’d have blown their story wide open, being innocent of that crime.
So Oswald went down in the history books as an assassin ball of green slime.

The world grieved or was in shock,
Stunned by the assassination of the president;
When you’re in shock, you accept
Whatever you’re told, because it helps you reach closure.
Ms Jackie knew the truth; she had her two kids to think of;
She knew her world died
When her man was shot; her Camelot ended
As soon as her man went in the hole;
Just shows how sick she was of America,
When she married that tycoon from Greece,
But at least there, she found a few days
To claim a new life and live in peace;
Forgetting the horror of her husband’s brains
In her lap; she near lost her mind in her tears.
I shrug; Paw-Paw Louie speaks memories;
You folks, believe me, or not;
Don’t you know when you get my age?
You’ll see that history is fantasy, filled with facts?
And since it is all fantasy; it stays safe, being an old man’s mumblings.
Your mommies are calling you; off with ya, and have a good day.

Ha-Ha, that wraps up another round of yarns from the life of a senior citizen;
It’s all about me and my life, and other good shit!
This is a story I just had to tell;
We old‘uns have more history than you, under one finger nail.
We demand respect, if you don’t like it?
Our reply will simply be (OH WELL.)
Yep, this is the Ballad of the Senior Citizen (and other good shit.)
(The end, for now, it’d time for another nap.)

©JD Couch and JA Wayahowl (12-27-2012)