Back in the early post-depression days
when everyone was still poor
my father told me
Uncle Eddie would invite everyone
to a fancy restaurant
and order the most expensive items
on the menu
my father would kick him under the table
and give him a
how are your going to pay for this, look
but Eddie kept his poker face
and ordered wine
while my father
twisted in his seat
Eddie finished the meal
with desert and coffee
then Eddie would call
the waiter over
and show him
the buttered roll that
was set on their table
before their meal
claiming it was someone else’s leftovers
Uncle Eddie was a big man with a loud voice
son-of-bitch he’d yell
shaking the roll
in the waiters face
as the other diners stopped eating
to see what all the commotion
was about
the restaurant did the only thing
they could
told Uncle Eddie sorry
the meals on the house
and Uncle Eddie
would finish his coffee
and light up a cigar
Comments
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sedaris-esqe. the candor and near minimal tones are what stikes me. again, it is clean. this is good.
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Prose v poetry
Hey Dave. Rhetorica asked me yesterday what was my favourite Buk poem. I said 'So you want to be a Writer', no doubt about it. My second choice was 'A Man' which was so prosaic it was hardly poetry at all. Point being, sometimes Buk's poetry came very close to being prose - but it was always great.
This one is closer to prose - but it's still great. >W< -
This is what its all about Dave,awesome writing,barely a punctuation mark and it still flows and makes total sense,best work i`ve read from you,it looks so easy to write like this until you try to do it.I think there a bit of uncle Eddie in most men,we just dont have the balls to be him.
Thanks.
R.
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That's really clever. I love it!
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