charles
03-29-2011, 12:52 AM
Every once in a while, I sneak in a NON-ARUBA piece in here. Actually everything I write is somehow connected to this rock but .... that's another story. Now is the time I just hang on and hope the piece will not get kicked off. If it does, I surely understand. If is doesn't, I'll know you understood.
I met someone that has been reading me for some time and was greatly honored to know that. Within the body of that conversation we talked about various things and one of them reminded me of the following piece.
This "Hockeymom" as promised, is for you.
LEAVING HOME
Charles Croes
February 2009
With pants ironed to a glossy shine.
The shirt starched stiff with sleeves in line.
His belt pulled tight to the worn out hole.
The shoeshine covers a worn out sole.
With a face aglow from a wash cloth scrubbing.
His teeth shine bright from the toothbrush rubbing.
Both his hands smell clean from using French soap.
Can’t tell he spent the summer pulling barnyard rope.
With a hounds tooth suitcase battered at his feet.
His worldly possessions are all packed neat.
The cap in his hands says ‘Detroit Wheels’
The smile on his face hides how he really feels.
The train comes and he starts to board without looking back to see the poverty and love he leaves behind.
Daddy said “Tis a better world out there son, clean up, pack your things and go make your mark on America”.
“But what about you dad?”
“Doesn’t matter much, not after Mama passed – God I miss that woman. She was a fine gal son – your Moma – she was surely fine.”
“Where I am going to Papa? Where will this ticket take me?”
“Boy – that ticket in you paw will take you to the end of seven dollars – that’s where it’ll go. ‘Twas all I had for fare but it should be far enough to pull you out of this misery. Seven dollars – all I got to give my son – seven dollars – I love ya boy – I love ya.”
“Can I turn about to see your face one more time Papa? I’d like that real well.”
“Look ahead boy. Look ahead and don’t turn about. I’ll see you in the eve when my eyes shut. Moma will stand by you in my mind.”
“Gosh I’d like to see ya just once more.”
“Boy – close your eyes and turn about. I’ll hold ya tight and put your face to my neck. Smell it and be on your way.”
“You smell just fine Papa – Just fine.”
“Turn about and go my boy. Turn about and go.”
He shuffles off the platform to the rail machine that snarls at this train stop. He has left his only blood ever so gently without spilling a drop. They will never see each other again.
With pants ironed to a glossy shine.
The shirts starched stiff with sleeves in line.
His belt pulled tight to the worn out hole.
The shoeshine covers a worn out sole.
With a face aglow from a wash cloth scrubbing.
His teeth shine bright from the toothbrush rubbing.
Both his hands smell clean from using French soap.
Can’t tell he spent the summer pulling barnyard rope.
With a hounds tooth suitcase battered at his feet.
His worldly possessions are all packed neat.
The cap in his hands says ‘Detroit Wheels’
The smile on his face hides how he really feels.
He boards the monster and quickly turns.
His face inhales coal smoke as it boils and it burns.
Pap is gone and Mama ain’t there.
Tis’ more that this poor boy can hardly bear.
He’s leaving home.
I met someone that has been reading me for some time and was greatly honored to know that. Within the body of that conversation we talked about various things and one of them reminded me of the following piece.
This "Hockeymom" as promised, is for you.
LEAVING HOME
Charles Croes
February 2009
With pants ironed to a glossy shine.
The shirt starched stiff with sleeves in line.
His belt pulled tight to the worn out hole.
The shoeshine covers a worn out sole.
With a face aglow from a wash cloth scrubbing.
His teeth shine bright from the toothbrush rubbing.
Both his hands smell clean from using French soap.
Can’t tell he spent the summer pulling barnyard rope.
With a hounds tooth suitcase battered at his feet.
His worldly possessions are all packed neat.
The cap in his hands says ‘Detroit Wheels’
The smile on his face hides how he really feels.
The train comes and he starts to board without looking back to see the poverty and love he leaves behind.
Daddy said “Tis a better world out there son, clean up, pack your things and go make your mark on America”.
“But what about you dad?”
“Doesn’t matter much, not after Mama passed – God I miss that woman. She was a fine gal son – your Moma – she was surely fine.”
“Where I am going to Papa? Where will this ticket take me?”
“Boy – that ticket in you paw will take you to the end of seven dollars – that’s where it’ll go. ‘Twas all I had for fare but it should be far enough to pull you out of this misery. Seven dollars – all I got to give my son – seven dollars – I love ya boy – I love ya.”
“Can I turn about to see your face one more time Papa? I’d like that real well.”
“Look ahead boy. Look ahead and don’t turn about. I’ll see you in the eve when my eyes shut. Moma will stand by you in my mind.”
“Gosh I’d like to see ya just once more.”
“Boy – close your eyes and turn about. I’ll hold ya tight and put your face to my neck. Smell it and be on your way.”
“You smell just fine Papa – Just fine.”
“Turn about and go my boy. Turn about and go.”
He shuffles off the platform to the rail machine that snarls at this train stop. He has left his only blood ever so gently without spilling a drop. They will never see each other again.
With pants ironed to a glossy shine.
The shirts starched stiff with sleeves in line.
His belt pulled tight to the worn out hole.
The shoeshine covers a worn out sole.
With a face aglow from a wash cloth scrubbing.
His teeth shine bright from the toothbrush rubbing.
Both his hands smell clean from using French soap.
Can’t tell he spent the summer pulling barnyard rope.
With a hounds tooth suitcase battered at his feet.
His worldly possessions are all packed neat.
The cap in his hands says ‘Detroit Wheels’
The smile on his face hides how he really feels.
He boards the monster and quickly turns.
His face inhales coal smoke as it boils and it burns.
Pap is gone and Mama ain’t there.
Tis’ more that this poor boy can hardly bear.
He’s leaving home.