~ Delta Poetry Review ~

R. J. Looney

Me and Ray

That old sun

keeps coming up

so every morning

I go out to the truck

turn the key

it fires up and rattles to life

I wonder

how it still does

I pick his old bones up

set him on the seat

Me and Ray

get started

on our daily routine

Driving out the holler

the same road

I’ve been on

for 75 years

I could walk it backward

in the dark

blindfolded

and visit all the places

I know are there

the stump of the big pecan

where I sat as a boy

and killed squirrels

when .22 shells

cost a quarter for 50

and I still thought I was loved

the spot where I took her parking

it was good for years after

until it wasn’t

Potholes on the pavement

when we make it to the old highway

the result of many floods

I’ve named them all

after people and places

that stole my happiness

or just made life miserable

“Esther”

“Mr. Hall”

“Platte Valley, Nebraska”

Ray likes the truck

he can sit up

and see our little world

I roll down the window for him

he barks and smiles

with the breeze on his face

I’m glad he’s still with me

I just hope he dies before I do

hate to think about him

waiting on somebody to come find me

him maybe starving to death

before that happens

Used to be I knew everybody

in this little spot

on our forgotten highway

somebody used to be

at the post office all day

nobody writes letters anymore

but we stop in and look in our box

just in case

There was a place

we could go after the post office

drink coffee and smoke

tell lies and cough

without people thinking

I had the plague

the owners didn’t care

if I brought Ray in

when it was cold

he’d curl up by an old heater

the kind that had the curly wires

that glowed

I never had to say anything to him

when it was time to go

he got up when I did

that place is gone now

the burger joint

15 miles away

has a group

that gathers

for coffee

Ray’s not welcome there

so I don’t go

We drive around in summer

look at everybody’s crops

smell the river and rice fields

most times drive on to another town

stop at a joint for a burger

Ray likes a shake with his

we head back by 3

rarely do we go anywhere else

easier to dodge the potholes

in daylight

We wait for night

on the back porch

after supper

I take a sip of beer

and pour a little out

for Ray

hoping

we see the sun

again tomorrow

Washtub Full of Rain

I got a window

where a wall used to be

clear glass in the panes

it lets the sun find its way to my soul

cleaned in a washtub full of rain.

I heard the blues on KFFA

on Cherry Street in Helena

Robert Johnson sang Love in Vain

Sky is Cryin’ Elmore James

all those tears

filling up a washtub full of rain.

Momma’s headed down to Houston

flying on a big jet plane

when I get there

I might live in her new apartment

not bathe in a washtub full of rain.

I got a wishing well

where concrete used to be

Friday goes and Sunday comes again

time to live or time to die

baptized in a washtub full of rain.

Momma goes to work in the morning

nobody knows where or who

Daddy is

there’s always a man though

watching our TV

and eating my cereal

when I wake up

he just looks at me sideways

and goes back to

Family Feud reruns.

I dream

about sitting in that washtub

back in Arkansas

especially when it is this dry

no rain in months

my skin cracks open sometimes

Momma works hard

I know she hurts

so we laugh hard as we can

about a story she told

I don’t know the people

but it is so funny

her mouth open

teeth shining bright

then she stops laughing

rubs my head

and walks away

but I’m still sitting

in this washtub

full of rain.

A Carport in Garland County, Arkansas

I think I’m in Hot Springs

I’m not sure exactly

I know

I’m on Lake Hamilton

it is 9:31 pm

on a Friday

91 degrees

in mid-June.

My dreams lately

are of dead relatives

my grandparents

uncles, aunts, cousins

but mainly my mother.

Last night

I dreamed I died

from a gunshot wound

mom drove me to Heaven

in a '76 Monte Carlo

wearing Tootsie glasses

I came back as a ghost.

In my dream

I was happy being a ghost

maybe I’ve always been one.

R.J. Looney lives and writes in Arkansas. His poems have been published online and in print since 2002, and he has served as poetry editor for the online zine Thunder Sandwich with the poet and novelist Jim Chandler. His first collection of poems, A Crow’s Breakfast: Poems from The Low Road, was published in 2014. A second collection entitled Ordinary High Water was released in 2021. His poetry and music series "No Place in Particular" has been celebrated since 2013. Email: randaljlooney@live.com