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Booker MaCline stared out with his young eyes
at the rolling hills and trees of great sizes,
West Virginia’s landcape, so much different,
the plane ride here every dollar had spent.

It was quieter then old Chicago,
who's slums for eighteen years had been his home,
he knew no one here, but he’d made the trip,
giving both family and gangbangers the slip.

Between his brother taunting the police,
his mother’s drinking, coming home on her knees,
a filthy high school with more drugs than books,
he’d left at first chance, not a second look.

He couldn’t believe it had come to pass,
that he could leave behind all of it so fast,
but he needed a home, and needed work,
so he picked up a flier, started his search.

Within a week he had rented a room
and found a nightshift job pushing a broom
at a local farm machine dealership,
his boss promised he could advance though it.

A year later Booker worked in their shop,
learning as he went from an old man called ‘Pops’
until he could rebuilt all of the machines,
refurbish them ’till they were running clean.

Two more years and old Pops had retired,
Booker ran the shop, kept tractors fired,
with a big bump in pay he bought a house,
and a new pickup, raised high of the ground.

He was now skilled labor, in high demand,
for local farmers he was the go-to man,
when he had the dough he bought a franchise,
now selling his own, hard work riding high.

And of course this brought the opposite sex,
three years of dating, then he did connect
with a petite red-head, worked as a nurse,
he could find no better, tired of the worse.

It was their engagement which brought on back
the chaos of old that he was glad to lack,
his brother came out to meet the new wife,
and with his came all the drama and strife…

Malcolm MaCline came to his brother’s house,
sniffed and said,”So you're living here now?
Going on eight years with barely a word,
and this is what you have been doing brother?”

Malcolm sighed heavily, then he just scoffed,
Booker said,”Sounds like you picked up a cough.”
His brother scowled,”I’m ashamed of you,
and it’s farm time you hear some words that are true.

“This little house and this dull, redneck life,
the way that you dress, your damn honky wife,
you act like them, but you’ll never be one,
you’re a fool whose forgotten where he came from!

CONTINUES IN PART II.
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