life slips away


The old lamp lighter. The telegraph machine. The dial telephone. Two-lane blacktop. Pitchforks and hay stacks. A harvest moon.


Children of the Industrial Revolution. Suicide-clutch Harleys. An inbred girl from the mountains of Vermont, what was it she was looking for when she took you into her room and while the springs squeaked furiously through the thin wall while her mill-working father fucked her child-bearing mother, slipped off her blouse and unhooked her bra?

You took one of those full young breasts in your mouth as she unzipped your fly and wrapped her hand around your cock. You came all over the dirty wood floor.

The springs stopped squeaking. She sat back on her bed and lit a cigarette. You were both fourteen.

Four years later she was the mother of two and had moved back to Vermont, and you were in a seminary.

Most of your life things happened to you that you did not understand, until much later, if at all.

Leave a Comment

Filed under shards

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.