#49: Second Fiddle In The First Band (Family)

Yo, Doctor, Lawyer, And Fireman . . .
Yo, Race's Winner, And Also Ran . . .
Genuine Article, Or Charlatan . . .
Before You Seek A Righteous End,
Touch The Place Where You Began!

Jo grabbed a card from under the clutter
lying around our feet.
He held it up for me to see
one stop we couldn't cheat.

"Family," I read it to myself,
and then I said out loud,
"Oh boy, Jo, this'll be somethin'
sure to please the crowd."

Jo-Mima raised his eyebrows,
and looked at me and grinned,
"I don't even want to know
the shit we're gettin' in."

I'd say this flight's impressions left
some reason for concern.
Troublesome symbols were evident
everywhere we turned.

The Chariot slowed, and came to rest.
One image stayed in view . . .
a crucifix shaped of dollar bills
sat, wet, with morning dew.

When Jo and I stepped out to greet
our usual landing site,
the familiarity of the scene
left both of us up tight.

"There's something recognizable here . . ."
Jo's words would not arrive . . .
and then he shouted, "I know this place,
Yellow Springs . . . number five."

We walked on down from off the tee,
headed for number one.
Our shoes left tracks in the dewy grass
beneath the morning sun.

I was thinking that it must be May . . .
Summer would make me sneeze.
And, in the fall, the smell of football'd
be hangin' in the breeze.

The parking lot was graveled like
way back in sixty-six.
The putting green was crowded with
some putter-wielding hicks.

I guess Jo saw me start to yell.
I saw him start to duck,
but we were saved by the blaring horn,
honked by a passing truck.

Then we saw the taxi cab,
with driver pretty wired,
careening into the parking lot,
his sign lit-up "Now Hired."

"Are you the guys from outta State
that I'm supposed to meet?
Let's go, man. I'm in a hurry, now!
Come on and grab a seat."

As we closed our doors, he peeled away.
We fish-tailed to the road.
In his mirror I saw him squinting,
and swerve to miss a toad.

"Hey, asshole! You know how to drive?"
I yelled up at the front.
His response was weird and thoughtful,
and anything but blunt:

"Hey, c'mon man, did you not see
that toad I almost hit??
That guy's some whole knot's brother.
I mean, just think of it . . .

There is a creek with a bunch of toads
sittin' around a leaf.
What if Brother don't make it home?
Imagine all the grief.

I see a spot . . . it's empty now,
where Brother should have been,
but a cab of vagabond killers
just took him from his kin."

"Are you nuts?" Jo started blurting,
"As if a frog would know.
You've been watching too much of that
'All In The Puddle' show."

Jo and I began to laugh,
picturing in our minds,
Arch and Meathead arguing like
red-neck amphibians.

"So, I guess you guys ain't heard
of Run B Long Done."
As a matter of fact, we hadn't, but
it didn't sound like fun!

"It teaches us when one is born,
he's given to a place,
bound with cords of heart and soul
that never will unlace.

Turn your back on your family, man,
disgrace, deny, deceive . . .
love them lots, or hate 'em, but
you're never gonna leave.

And they might blame you for mistakes,
and let their anger show . . .
but they, too, will be bound to you,
and cannot let you go.

It's all wrapped up in the magic word.
You know about the Word?"
That cabbie-preacher's day was made
when he learned we hadn't heard!

"Okay, so what's this Longer Dong,
or whatever is your deal?"
I love to yell at people when
they start to sound unreal.

And Jo was troubling whether or not,
the words of Christendom
could have anything at all to do
with this crazy dude's agendum.

The cabbie talked, oblivious, as
we passed Ohio Street.
Not wanting to break the spell, I sat
real quiet, in my seat.

"It's a yearning for someplace," he said,
and kept on with a stare . . .
"a desire for forever, and,
a need for what is there.

One syllable means existence, while
another means to stay.
And when they come together, then,
they give us cause to pray.

It's ownership and privation,
all wrapped up in one.
As proprietor and possession,
we're all Run B Long Done."