wedding guest dresses for spring

(past life)

Since the child hood struggle had begun a little late.

Since all the cool toys, boys and girls had long since found out they were just a fad.

Since faded blue jeans ripped A lot easier

Holes in the knees and seat of my pants seemed to be..

Some kind of adolescent machismo

Fashion. I was a trend setter

Mom can’t make me change anymore.

They all have holes and I’m not wearing girls pants for sure

nice shirt .

Shoes always about to fall off, except for the well worn ,well oild Dr marten's hid under the shed ,the porch, the bathroom closet.

I’d made a life out of nobody even noticing anything but my “faults” my odd behavior.
And could certainly let my quirks slip to be dismissed as an idiot.


The little things that just didn’t fit into their box.

Hell give them a good laugh and they’d think you must be simple.

Let him dress like a clown.

Still gonna cut your hair.

Still gonna walk right and stand up straight.
No faces.


Boys just not to bright .

Fun to look at sometimes. Definitely gonna have to keep him away from the girls.
Women too if he keeps growing like that .
Never wears a lick of clothes.
Not in those trees not in my sunny fields.

You just wouldn’t believe what he was doing last week.

We found a book. A journal.

He still won’t come from under the house.

Howling like that dog of his, after a truck catches him on the smart end chasing cars .

Can’t read a lick of it.

‘fraid if I say something it’ll make it worse.

Just give it back to him.

Why did you even say anything? ,It’s been there for years.

Dog eared. Some were very good.

He’d won trophies and ribbons and been in newspapers.

The first ones had.

Now he reminded the old man of Faulkner and maybe Alexander Dumas.

Secret messages. Even to his future self.

Always brooding into his books.

Lived to share.

Loved to quote himself.

When something quote worthy ever did arise.

Not to often.

Mostly struggle, awkward struggle.




Ted the bear, or batman for short.

Would sit on the old black roll top watching for looky loos who might steal up behind,, And lay eyes upon the words.

No bedroom door.

No bathroom door.

Everything down to my bowel movements and dinner time.

Once a day for both unless I shared with the dogs..

Ha ha.

The dogs always became my closest friends,
All you ever had for them was food.

A lieing eye a pat on the head.

I’d sneak them out like Indians on a night raid.

Me and Buttons, me and Rowdy me and Tiny , Sissy and Sassy. Me and Dog.
Pooch and Yeller, Smoky ,Troubles.. And yes even the great RJ ,king of the police dogs.

A sire.

Dog would drag me around like his charge by the diaper.

I don’t guess anybody really minded.

Stories abound about the great German Shepard that was my first babysitter.
Fire ants, raccoons ,wild cats. Other dogs.

Wasn’t anything stopping us but a gravel road on oneside.

Trees as far as the eye could see on all others.

Don’t let him near that road.

Never sure if she meant the dog to me or vis versa

We did our best at keeping each other out of the road.

Sit at my feet with my favorite cat in the bowl of my potty

Quietly purring beneath my ass as the first signs of genius manifested themselves above.

I’d fart. The cat would meow and the dog would bark.

I could get em going pretty good.
Usually meant we were headed outside.
Sans chair.
Sans notebook.

I always lose things
Always getting dirty.
That damn dog might eat it.
I really don’t understand any of it but you’ll probably at the least want to show your children David.

I never had children mother.

You passed in 2014 because you just would not listen to common sense.
Fathers gone too. I think as happy as he was there at the end. He was ready to head on down the road.
Of course my books were all destroyed. Written and read.
Our house burnt.
No one even wanted to admit I existed. they didn’t even know I lived there.
They always said I looked like my dad.
But I think it was more than that.

Every one wanted the old Sunday school teacher crying over dishes in the burnt down rubble of a home herself her husband and son had built from other torn down houses. wedding guest dresses for spring
Nobody wanted the boy who was well into manhood.
Wild as the geese that show up around mid winter.
Nobody wanted the truth.
The illusion was A lot more convenient.
Books, what books? And quit talking about that girl.

I don’t remember any books.

My room wasn’t too burnt
My bookshelf was empty, not burnt.
Not so much as a wire spiral. Or my clipboard rings. .
The greatest collection of words and experiences ever, reduced to a sad crying old woman. And the ashes of her house.

I excepted. I silenced myself.
It’s funny how we live by a set of rules.
Our whole life.
Father and Aurther Conan Doyle taught me deduction
And nothing added up.
And once more
My thought in finality
They knew something else had gone on.
Neighbors, thieves, greed.
They always wanted, needed, argued over more and more money.

But the more they got …
I never noticed anything different besides the verbosity and frequency of the turmoil entwined .
People just need money David.
They have to eat ,drink, drive, live under a roof and have a small two channel black an white TV.

I got a real Boom Box for my birthday one year.
Big as life, big as me.
Two tape decks, speakers came off.
Even had record.
But if it wasn’t my green tape I wouldn’t hit play.
Never know what the hell they’d been recording.
Life’s just like that I guess.
You never know what they’ve been recording.

I must have recorded every insect my little home made microphone would pick up though.
Cats meows
Dogs bark. Whines ,chuffs.
Doors slaming. An argument of magnificent proportion.
With lead to a good beating and no more use of the radio for a week.
Once I realized it didn’t need the speakers to record.
This made the whole unit rather.
Tiny almost.
Easily hid.
Did not see that coming.
The audio video input output.
Long distance calls.
Call from the man, who was my birth father .
I learned the word bastard. I had known it.
Just never that I was actually a member of this fraternity of occidental?

Accidental pregnancy.
Still I giggle.
Maybe lust. Maybe ignorance or folly.
Maybe just lazy good for nothing.
Maybe fear.
But no love.
Mostly just what you have to do ,David.

Aunt Fran saved abortion babies.
Found them good homes.
Fran sold Bastards and Bastardettes to the rich ,or at least somebody that wanted one.

Mama didn’t want me in hell, only reason she didn’t feed me to the dogs.
Daddy wanted a girl anyway so she’d get to try again.
Especially once she told him who my dad was.

Crazy bitch.
Crazy hateful horny old man.
Revenge is best served cold.
But not through a child.
I was born a weapon against the only father I’d ever know.
But he loved me enough to let me live.
Let me listen
Let me be myself.
Just don’t make your mother yell, and quit smoking my cigarettes.
Dammit. How do you keep getting in my truck.
He knew.
Ever trick I knew was in somewhat based on an idea shown to me by him.
I did elaborate more than him.
His wisdom.
My naivety.

Less is more an English teacher told me later in life.
Less is more.
I just don’t believe that. Unless your lying to get to go to the beer store.
If your mad and had a bad day.
Oxygen, when you run.
Slow down. I believe is what he meant and your explanation can explain A lot more than intended.
But when it comes to love, trust, commitment ,honor ,gratitude and happiness .
More is definitely more.
Less can happen suddenly and without warning
Under the bluest sky the coolest sun.
Even the most perfect day can become less.
But only if you let it.

-David Sanders