ME AND UNCLE MALARKEY
We had to get away : just two fools,
out on the town; well, the countryside
anyway. Drinking in barns and starting
fires with our minds. He was like 100
years old and I nearly had to carry him
around or wait forever for him to get
anywhere - but he was sharp as a tack.
Counted all his change, could do division
mentally and never lose a penny. What
a guy. I couldn't let him sleep, because
it seemed like he'd never wake up. Or
it took a long time. He'd come around
slowly, but moaning and with a babble.
Said he had to 'focus back to this damned
life.' And it took some time. He knew
each farm around, and where they kept
the hootch; not stills, mind you, just
where in the barns the farmer kept his
bottles - up on top of rafters, or out
behind some hay. These guys were
characters, each and every one. Uncle
Malarkey (I'd given him that name
years and years ago), knew all the
short-cuts too. Between places and
over hills. That made things easier,
at least. I would'a wished he was
40 years younger, for the jaunts we
took in Summer days, but he never
made a care much about anything at
all. Nothing sensible anyway. He'd
say dumb things too - 'That tree is
looking at me'....or 'that bird is calling
my name.' I ask you, what do you say
back to something like that? As to the
tree problem, looking at him, I just said,
'Tell it to stop, but just don't bark.'
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