by Poetry 99
© 2000 Dorothy E. Scott, all rights reserved
A sad wife asked her husband, "Daddy, Whatcha
gonna do when the bill collector comes through?"
"He was here yesterday toting a sack of envelopes marked past
due!"
"Was that pleasure at the bar worth all my nervous
worry?"
"Now you wash that sullen face and shower in a hurry."
"Breakfast has been ready for nare an hour or
so."
"Today you must gather up those goats and sheep astray."
Callused fingers put down the cup of coffee and
picked up a glass of orange juice.
"Your drunken brawling will someday buy you a hangman's
noose."
Grieving eyes gazed upon the shell of the man she
married forty years before.
His unshaven beard was a tragic reminder of another unfinished
chore.
An ebony polka-dotted dress hung off her lean
gaunt frame.
And rotted teeth portrayed how reckless his addictive life
became.
Each eggshell was ground up to place in the bucket
of chicken feed.
Homemade bread was coated with fresh butter covered in sesame`
seed.
Ankle boots were worn to protect her feet as she
attended to the livestock.
She reached down and kissed her husband's sweaty face as she again
talked.
"Take down that tub yonder and bathe that sweaty
head!"
"I'm gonna go wash those terrible sheets, I dread."
The old man looked down in his coffee cup with a
sigh.
At this moment he hated the person that inside lie.
His wife looked haggard from the life and extra
work.
Her beautiful face was marred and no longer had a smile to
perk.
Tears dripped from her eyes as she said,
"Daddy, Whatcha gonna do when I am long dead?"
"Whose gonna wash those heavy coveralls and bathe that sweaty
head?"
"Our only child has already been heaven-bound in
my white cape."
"She can't take care of her drunken Papa in the awfulest
shape."
She cried, "Daddy, Whatcha gonna do when the Good
Lord comes through?"
"He ain't gonna take. "I don't have any time or money to pay
you."
Shaky hands pulled his thick socks on his unsure
feet.
His appearance was no longer trim or neat!
"But a man gotta have a private life of his own, "
He chided.
"I will just drink one time more!" He decided.
Two years later no change had ever taken place in
his life.
His wife died from all the heartache and continuous
strife.
Tears trickled as he heard his wife's words echo
in his mind again.
All he earned for the future was in a bottle which he couldn't
win.
"Daddy, Whatcha gonna do when I am long dead?"
"Whose gonna wash those heavy coveralls and that sweaty
head?"