Home » Poems » Stephen Kilmer » Simple Days

Simple Days

Otis Wheat was a simple man. He didn’t have much to say and when he did say something it was worth listening to. He was generally shy to a fault but when the time was right he could let you know how the bread was buttered. I learned a lot about life from him and also to keep my mouth shut unless I had something to say. And now I reckon I got something to say.

I have been waiting fifty-five years to start talking and it feels like I’ve been drowning inside. Now you might think that a man can’t live that long without saying something meaningful but I can tell you straight up that ain’t true. I have been bull****ting folks from the day I came out of the womb and into this world. It started with an ass whooping from the doctor that delivered me, “scream like you got a set son”, to standing in the White House and shaking a Presidents hand, “Yes Mr. President I did have sex with that woman”. You see what comes out of my mouth has never necessarily been the truth. So your probably thinking why should I believe you now? Well I will let you be the judge of that for I have been to the mountain and I have returned with a sense of fear that would put any living being to shame…for I am afraid of heights and I can’t stand looking down on anything or anyone, and because of that fear I shall not tell a lie.

So the story begins one dark cold morning in Bedfordshire, England. My mother was in labor for two days before I peaked my scrawny little head out into the world and uttered my first words. Of course these were coaxed out of me by a swift slap on the ass but it didn’t take but once for me to figure out that I didn’t want another, thank you very much. The nurse swaddled me in a nice warm blanket put a beany on my head and cooed over me. I smiled back and pretended to love her and uttered a couple of monosyllabic words to bring the point home. I was a natural.

Now my older brother was not very fond of me and from day one I had to figure out a way to bamboozle him into a chaotic state that would keep him from injuring my body and soul. This may sound like quite a feat for an infant but I was a precocious child and made due with what was at hand. There are only a couple of things an infant can do and one of them is scream like a spotted-ass ape. The other is poop. Screaming did not always have the desired effect so I learned early on how to throw a turd better than Joe Namath on his best day. I have figuratively been hurling them ever since.

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.