Dyin' Crapshooter Blues

There I was. I remember it all still.

As I went out one morning, I was overwhelmed by my wife's coffee. I despised it, it always made me feel sick; I preferred orange juice. I sat down in my worn down dark green armchair in our homey living room, TV playing, fire going, dog snoring, my wife, eye-balling me. I felt her eyes on me, I turned to ask her the first words I say every morning, "Morning Honey, what's for dinner t'night?"

She smiled her smile and said with her voice, "Umm, honestly I don't know yet, probably somethin' with pork or-- wanna have sausage?"

"Ah sausage, that'd be great." She knew my stomach better than my stomach did. I've wondered for a while now, perhaps a lot of guys my age think this too, if she still feels for me, if she still loves me. It's never occurred to me, how much she called old guy friends from high school or college and how little she called me at work to check in on me. But I never wanted to worry about that kinda stuff, it's too hard for me.

I cut my chin shaving, my dog bumped me, I haven't changed my razor in a while. I pulled my jeans and shoes and socks on, put on my coat, and my hat, and walked to the door. "Bye Sara. I love you, have a good day."

"Okay have a great day! Guess what?"

"What?"

"I'll be your baby tonight," she almost sung to me.

"Hah. Just like a lady; okay, if you want to. Bye."

She buttoned her suit and said, "Don't get cute, hah, no dear, I need to."

"I know, I need to too. I love you, you make my day already, you saved it."

"Ah, tomorrow will be a better day."

"Tomorrow is a long time."

"That's a great song, and your great too."

"Yes. I gotta run like pigs from a gun. I love you, I'll see you tonight."

I forgot to get my keys, but Sara met me at the door with them. She knows me too well. I turned the radio up, it was Don McLean singing, "This'll be the day that I die, this'll be the day that I die." I filled my tank up at the gas station, I went into the store and saw Roger Waters there, and Jimmy Page. I talked with them a bit, but they seemed anxious. Roger said he had to go put a wall, and Jimmy had to do a stairway. Jimmy said Bruce and his friend Quinn (the Eskimo) were going to the river tomorrow. As I was leaving there, I ran into Georgia Sam, and he asked, "Have you seen John Harding lately? Ol' Bill wants to get together with him next Friday or somethin'."

"Tell Ol' Bill I'll get John and Jude and Silvio and we'll all go out next Friday."

"Alright, thanks Don, be seein' you."

"You take care now," I closed the talk. I saw three little birds sitting on a trash can, and saw Mr. Jones walk into the room, with a pencil in his hand. I didn't feel like talking to him. So, I drove to the little cafe down the road, and picked up a bite to eat. I was already about an hour and a half late to work, I didn't care. Judas Priest walked down the sidewalk, and Pilate was right behind him. Across the the restaurant, I saw a woman sit down, with a pretty face, and long, white shiny legs. The waitress knew her, the girl's name was Eve. The waitress was Helen, they were talking about guys named Jason, Paris, and Hector. I sure had a lot of gaul to tell Helen to leave me alone. I decided to leave.

I drove to the landfill and went to Pat Garrett's office. He wasn't there, he was gone. I saw Woody, he was listening to "Komm, Gib Mir Deine Hand." I said hello and such and went on my way. Dave Ronk was supposed to work his shift today, rumor was, he's actually going to work his own shift, I thought, "Yeah, that'll be the day."

Seeger's bulldozer was in the shop so, I had to use that one that's never used. Before I hopped in, I saw a tramp coming my way. "Hey son, you lookin' for somethin'? Someone?"

"Uh, no sir. I just don't got no direction home. I needed find one. I was born to the wrong parents, they gave me the wrong name, I headin' home. But I'm walkin'-- I'm walkin' blind."

I didn't want to deal with him anymore, "Okay, well, be seein' you." He walked away, he reminded me of Woody Guthrie or Rambin' Jack Elliot, or any of them old folkies, actually he reminded me more of Jack Kerouac than anyone else. I got in the bulldozer, realized I was thirsty. So I tiredly got out and went to the old, barely working vending machine. I put in my change, some lent too, and received a Coca-Cola in turn. At last, I climbed into the cabin, kicked on the engine, opened my drink, set down in the cup-holder, turned on he AC. I tuned in the radio, it was Blind Willie McTell singing "The Dyin' Crapshooter's Blues." There was rust over the paint, dust, on the glass, the leather on the seat and dash was splitting and wrinkling up. The bulldozer shuddered as I first moved it.

The landfill was a bit of a waste. There was another one, twice as large, and about half empty, also most of this stuff didn't have to be thrown away. I found old records in perfect shape, old style cameras in tip-top shape. I even found a standing acoustic bass guitar, just standing there, and a autographed poster of Marilyn Monroe. It reminds me of my first mission trip to Mozambique, desolation everywhere. In truth, we call the landfill Desolation Row, Boss says it's a great song, but no one our age likes old Dylan.

After a few long, lonely minutes, things changed. Something stalled, I think it might've been an axle, because I started turning from behind. At an instant the cabin came slightly lose from the body, and was dislodged and thrown from the cabin, through the window glass. I fell and landed on my right knee, I couldn't stand. I crawled some short distance, a piece of metal caught my shirt buttons, and I don't know why, but I couldn't move. I said my Act of Contrition-- I'm a Catholic-- and I turned over. The skyway was nearly covered by clouds, the Sun was eclipsing the Moon, and the bulldozer overtook my sight. I saw no more, I felt pain, but it was not physical pain. It was subconscious pain. I didn't express it, for I did not know how. So instead, I let out a cold, warm, empty, and full last breath.

I know some people will miss me, my kids, my dog, Sara, my close friends, and my parents. I'd help them if I could, but I'm not there, I'm gone, I'm way gone.