he’d sit out in the backyard as the coolness of evenin’ came about…chewin’ on strands of grass and singin’ out loud some song he’d learned in church that week…Amazing Grace…Old Rugged Cross…somethin’ that dragged just a bit…sang through two missin’ teeth…hummed over parts forgotten…
and momma would be inside fryin’ up chicken livers and gizzards…a few hearts…too poor to cook up a whole chicken…too many mouths to feed…she’d drudge it in egg and flour with salt and pepper sprinkled in the mix…fried in hot bacon fat and Crisco…cast iron skillet sat onna flame…
daddy’d never be ’round when she cooked up chicken innards…he’d be out on the road tryin’ to sell service contracts to getcher televisions fixed…he’d drive up and down and sideways throughout the state of Arkansas sellin’ them pieces of paper…useless pieces of paper…most of the time you just needed the antennae adjusted on top of your house…daddy knew this…
she got so lonely with him on the road…sat inna big old Lazy-boy recliner and just cried at night…waitin’ on her man to come home…just waitin’…took no interest in watchin’ t.v. herself…didn’t care ’bout Rich Man Poor Man…or Roots…didn’t even wanna see The Thorn Birds…just sat in that Lazy-boy waitin’…rockin’ back and forth…while life just passed her by…
