BOOK AND HIS COVER
Ironically he told me the sobering truth as he slurred his words, fumbled with his cigarette and pulled out another beer from his baggy cargo pants. He said, I moved here in 1968, the roads were clear, the weather was great...far enough north we couldn’t hear the big cities horns. Then the lumber mills shut down, the paper mill died, father had to drive long haul so his family could survive and we do...we do what we have to do. The sky stayed as blue as the day was long, time stood still, time moved along. I can’t remember the last time I had a roof over my head, I can’t remember the last time I slept in a bed. I’m living on cheap wine, whiskey and beer...and the sky and my memories still remain clear...that’s why I love it here. Our choices were made at the fork in the road, the rest of my family move south, I hope they struck gold. He said, hey mister, got some loose change for my sad song? I gave him five bucks, two bits and a hand to shake...said good friend...I’ll be moving on. I didn’t judge the book by its cover...if I did I wouldn’t be all that wrong...we’re all a note or a cord away from this song. The cover is strong as it’s bond. .
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