Uncle Bob's Words

Words, poetry, stuff like that

Down in the Sinks

Down in the sinks, Caney Sinks,

The dogs are barking, baying.

In the cooling dark, the men listen,

Sip beer, smoke cigarettes.

I was twelve.  I was bored.

When my teacher, for some reason,

Invited me to go along, I was excited.

There were fossils in the sinks,

Maybe even ghosts, Indian ghosts.

We got there after dark and

I heard a lot of “Hush, boy!”

They were listening to the dogs as

They tracked and treed raccoons.

This was as boring

As “The Perry Como Show”.

The dogs barked.

Finally, the men whistled the dogs back

And my teacher drove me home.

I never went again.  The parents heard

That my teacher was “iffy”.

Just my luck.

Boring…and a perv.

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