Uncle Howard

oldermanolderman Posts: 1,765
edited March 2008 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
Sensing that my uncle was not enjoying the Bob Dylan album I had queued on his sisters' HI-FI turntable, I considered turning down the tension or changing the channel.

But instead, being the little "fuck up nephew" that I was, I spoke up and said, “Uncle Howard, did you ever play this kind of music?”

He looked at me with a twisted hate of a smile.

I knew he had been a member of a traveling ‘Big Band’ in the upper Midwest. Wisconsin, Minnesota, North Dakota and the other frigid, nether regions (known in kind only to my beloved relatives and all you other crazy Swedes.)

“That’s not music…”

And you know the rest of the story….

RIP Uncle Howard

I love you.
Down the street you can hear her scream youre a disgrace
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
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