Caren Krutsinger | + Follow Poet |
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The Vicky Roast

Old Roy’s place is pretty, soft, songbird sweet
Out in the country, secluded, warm, welcoming
On weekends high school students gravitate there
To sing around campfire, and drink illegally.
Old Roy has been helping children become alcoholics for decades

Not sure when it got started, but his bonfires are legend.
The kids call them “The Vicky Roast” in honor of his missing wife.
Yes, Roy’s wife had run off in the sixties, never to be heard from again.
It’s a weird joke; no one is sure who started it, but Roy always laughs
For the last forty years anyway

Let’s have a Vicky Roast, he would say, loudly, drawing big laughs.
During the Viet Nam war most of the seniors were out there on weekends.
Townspeople knew of it. Some religious fanatics used to complain 
Learning the hard way that Roy’s cousin is Chief of Police.
It’s a small town; they should have already known it.

A few years ago the bonfire got dug up; because there were new owners.
Roy had been in a fetal position in the Senior Alzheimer’s Unit for years.
We were all grossed out when we discovered a skull and rib bones had been found
under the bonfire; and of course, it was his wife Vicky’s.
Vicky Roast sounds more macabre than ever now.

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