Grandpa’s Jug…

 

On a cold southern night, reading under the

covers by a “coal oil” lamp, grandpa’s piano

and laughter ringing in my ears, serenading

grandma, both had a bit too much “cheer”.  I

laughed so hard I pulled up the tail of my flour

sack gown to dry my tears; grandma could

not hear me I had nothing to fear.

 

Suddenly there was the smell of smoke; grandma

came in giving my covered shoulders a poke.

“It does not matter to me” she exclaimed, “You

may want to get out of bed before you go up in

flames”.

 

Through the hole in my quilt I could see…

smoke rising through it like a wilderness tepee.

Grandpa tossed a bucket of water at me from

the door; it missed the bed and hit the floor.

He jerked the quilt off the bed, folded it ever

so gently and pristine, then threw it out my

window which had no screen.

 

My aunt walked in laughing so hard she peed,

then said to the others, “Don’t yell at her, be

happy that she likes to read”.  Everyone begin to

laugh, drabbing at tears, grandma said, “Well, it’s

not as if she’s committed a crime”.  It was then…

I ran out of the room thankful for their “cheer”,

with the help of a little old jug of “moonshine”.

 

 

 

©2013.annjohnsonmurphree

 

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HONEYSUCKLE MEMORIES

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