the year i moved south
amidst a northern drought
there was a band of arsonists terrorizing
the people of three counties
comprising my childhood stomping grounds
Lincoln, Casey, & Pulaski
Kentucky
.
the bastards burned the hardware store
a few occupied houses
the lumber yard
and my dead daddy’s high school
in eubank
where he was in
future farmers of america
a basketball star
and the first of his mining man clan
to graduate
.
i had moved into my grandmother’s old house with my sons
to write my book
the utilities were reasonable
the memories were free
.
poppies and black irises in the back yard
mockingbirds in the trees
hummingbirds attending gossip socials
and a coat of many colors rose bush
who presented the sunlight back
to god in heaven each morning
.
one dark august night
deep into the soup thick summer heat
i had retrieved a jar of green beans
from the cellar out back
and proceeded to
cook them up with bacon grease
at the same old avocado green
electric whirlpool stove
where i watched
in hungry awe
as memaw did it
a thousand times
.
my loyal staffordshire bull terrier
was laying behind me at my feet
as is tradition when mama is cooking
.
my proximity to danger
was right beside
the side door
in the kitchen
leading out onto a breezeway
and porch
.
i had the big wooden door open
with only the screen door locked
in place to
allow for escaping heat
stirring
stirring
stirring
slow and southern
lost in a dying love poem
.
at the same moment i saw
a bit of night beyond the doorway
move in the shape of a man
up to no good
just when
i heard a gutteral growl come from
the canine creature behind me
comparable to the ear piercing howls
of a minotaur
trapped inside a labyrinthine hell
.
my boy
my dog Vinnie took flight
at the door
his paws never touching the floor
he exploded through the screen after
the menacing figure
.
i gave chase with my shotgun
saw he had three fuckers on the run
silhouette kerosene cans in idle hands
determined to burn down
what the banks
haven’t reclaimed yet
their lives stripped
of purpose and pride
one generationally entrenched
welfare check at a time
.
that night a church went
up in smoke instead
.
that was the evening
Vinnie saved my life
the lives of my twin boys
and the most sacred hiding places
my childhood provided
.
god have pity on the lost
future farmers of america
