peckerwood
there was already a line
to the back of the liquor store when he came in
the only black face in the entire place
we were somewhere in the upper middle
drunk from an afternoon in the grassroots tavern
but wanting more to kill the night
the wine store kept the smaller bottles of alcohol
behind the counter at the register
it was the store’s way
of teaching drunkards the value of patience
or to stop them from being so damned cheap
he found me right away
my wife claims that i have that kind of face
it’s welcoming and the antithesis to the fiber of my very
being
he said, hey man, you know how it is
then started motioning up toward the register
of course i knew how it was
but something about him rubbed me
it was rare that i found a face in this world as welcoming
as mine
most people were ugly without even trying
i said, i know how it is, man
that’s why i’m standing here with all of the other stiffs
i said, getting in front of me won’t help your cause any
he said, look, man
so i said, why don’t you go and ask each
and every person standing behind me
if they’re cool with you cutting then i’ll clear you a space
well, he just stood there with kind of a crooked grin
i wondered about the type of person
who found his face a soothing salve to come home to at night
he said, what if i just cut you in line
a man must do as he must, i answered
then he leaned in
he reeked of vodka as i reeked of beer
we were brethren of a sort
i thought to myself that i should’ve let him cut me
but then he called me a peckerwood
ain’t nothin’ but a peckerwood, he said
hear that honey, i said to my wife
now i’m the victim of racial intolerance
he went to the front of the line
cutting each and every one of us
the cashier sold him a pint of rum without hesitation
the hoi polloi held their bottles and gasped
their conceptions of law and order thrown to the dogs
someone called him an asshole
as he waved to the crowd on the way out
the woman behind me
threatened to get the manager
everyone else just stood there
checking their phones
a pack of peckerwoods
waiting on anarchy
waiting their turn in line.
ALSO: I have a poem up over at Revolution John
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