Curtis Johnson Poet Narrative

Moonshine And Mr Baine

So much of yesterday I can clearly see.
There was a man duly a part of my history.
He lived up the road a short distance from us.
We passed his house every day to catch the school bus.

Everyone called him by his last name, which was Baine.
I remember a face that seemed filled with lots of pain.
A hard-working man, but he seldom laughed or expressed joy.
He was the type of man that no one wanted to confront or annoy.

There was one thing about him that enabled me to better understand.
He had a younger wife named Bebe who left him for another younger man.
From that time onward he lived alone and made lots of 'moonshine'.
When I was just a boy, Mr. Baine became a very good friend of mine.

We both loved baseball, and his favorite team was the New York Yankees.
I was a Dodger fan, but we remained friends in spite of the rivalries.
Coming home from school one day, we all noticed that the entire roadway
had the smell of moonshine.  It was obvious to us that Mr. Baine's whisky
still had been discovered by law enforcement.

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