Member-only story
Redneck Advice
A Poem
Redneck Advice
I’m fifty and about the only skill I’ve acquired
is the ability to light a cigarette
while walking or driving a car.
I’ve been smoking for 25 years;
didn’t start until I met your dad.
Or more like when I met his roommate
Dave. People say he is dumber
than a box of rocks.
He’s the type that still drives down
the middle of the county blacktop,
even though they’ve painted it now
with those yellow lines.
When he’s behind the wheel, you
just pray there’s no one coming
on the other side of the hill.
Once, I followed him home from the bar
because he was drunker than a skunk
and we wanted to make sure he didn’t
hit anything on the way.
He was driving an old black pickup with
a reclaimed title, bent-up frame, and
no four-wheel drive.
Tried to take a short-cut through the ditch
and ended up with his tires half-buried in…
