Poetry: Be Thankful For Nothing

I remember this story so well like the milk from my mother’s breasts. Uncle Butch whose hands were like rocks, gave nothing even when he had more. Ruby and I grew with such tales on the tail of our truth, that people like Butch was our Father’s brother, but I didn’t think it was true.

We moved into our new and unfinished house with old zinc as windows, naked floors with the soul of the Earth as we felt the cold and ate the dust. Butch could afford us anything more than groceries, he gave us chewing gum in place of windows, gave my sister more chocolates than a gravel floor.
Things got better and the story spiced up. Years came fattening our pockets and leaning that of Butch, till he fought someday and needed a new eye. I could afford anything but I got Butch an eye wear. When his eye got worked on, he praised me for nothing. I didn’t come close to foot his bill, my feet were in my shoes. Ruby’s hands gave him a new eye, she still remembered chocolates.

Ruddapoet