“On the Beverly Hillbillies – what is Jed’s last name?”
“That’s easy. Clampett.”
“Ha! Ha! Clampett!”
With a twinkling eye Timmy Merritt reached down
put a vise grip on my nuts then ran off squealing.
I doubled over in that pose specific to a young boy
with his balls freshly clamped. In my head I said
“Sonofabitch Timmy Merritt rot in the lake of fire.”
Our family didn’t say such things out loud; we
thought them though which Jesus indicated is the
same but we cut ourselves some slack here and there.
Penny Johnson walked up in the wake of that cruel:
“You’ll always be braver than Timmy Merritt.”
She placed her hand on my shoulder with the tenderest
touch I’ve ever felt in my life. From then on when
I would stand on Sundays among the faithful in my
father’s church and we’d sing “what a fellowship,
what a joy divine” I’d think of Penny’s handling of me
that late spring day. She was joy divine. I’d of hung on
a cross for her, a truth I never said out loud but thought.

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  1. Teresa Evangeline on April 12, 2013 at 12:49 pm

    This is wonderful. I love your style as a poet. Really a beautiful poem and thought.

  2. consolationofmirth on April 12, 2013 at 1:15 pm

    Yes, you were brave. And Penny, a dear. I still hope Timmy got his comeuppance with a righteous ass-kicking.

    • Gretchen on April 12, 2013 at 1:59 pm

      Oh, I think we’d be friends. ^^^

  3. Michele Morin on April 12, 2013 at 6:00 pm

    Great definition of poetry there: writing down what you wouldn’t say out loud but thought.

  4. tonia on April 12, 2013 at 8:43 pm

    love this. tender grace.

  5. Linda on April 16, 2013 at 1:25 am

    What fun to get a peek into a little boy’s mind. Truthfully – rather like my little girl mind.

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