The
uncle who married the Irish nurse in Boston. The uncle who drank himself to
death after his own son died in a car. The uncle who died in the war. The uncle
who took his father's job at the Feed Co-Op. The uncle who lived in Korea. The
uncle the judge. The uncle the mechanic. The uncle the priest. The uncle the
travel writer. The uncle the spy. The uncle who was rode out of Frankfort on a
rail after flashing a negro schoolgirl. The uncle who moved to New York, got
locked up in the stockades, and ended up driving a cab over on Hudson Street.
The uncle who moved to New York and lasted a week. The uncle who moved to
Budapest chasing a girl. The uncle who moved to Scotland chasing a girl. The
uncle who moved to California chased by a girl. The uncle who still lives in
Nashville with his husband. The uncle who quit drinking. The uncle who didn't.
The uncle who taught you how to drive. The uncle who taught you how to shoot.
The uncle who taught you how to siphon gas out from an old International
Harvester. The uncle who fell off a train and died. The uncle who fell off a
horse. The hands and the knuckles and the bones in the faces. The shoulders and
the teeth and the blood. Bellies and livers and lungs. The smell of
coffee and cigarettes and whiskey. Trucks and the cars and pocketknives and
rifles and cameras. Wristwatches. Buckshot. Birdseed and dog food. The uncle
who showed you what your own father knew but couldn't show you. The uncle who
shows you what his own brother can't.
Monday, December 18, 2017
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