Suicidal Calling

Mike was a funny little guy we would drink Red Mountain wine and he would do the Red Mountain stomp always made me laugh he wanted to be a fireman he met his calling one night against a cement light standard in his Mothers borrowed Maverick; Johnny was a quiet guy, laid back the way he talked was different when he was high, often as it was just another dude when down way too cool when tokin' the pipe he told stories of mystics and dragons he found the black side of drug abuse reds took his soul, found him dead asleep; I remember Bill, married to big Ethel had thick glasses and long blonde hair always carried a small hatchet and knife I never figured that one out talked about Death and the afterlife loved his kids though, laughed with them they found him in his VW, him and a 38 note said the demons were here; Gordon was my best friend, he married Jenny we got so high, I thought I was floating at times we talked about the way things are then we would talk about the way they should be, we argued about stupid things, and we laughed they moved to Montana, he worked for a silver mine he thought Jenny was screwing the mine foreman so he drove his truck off a mountain, with his shotgun; Gary is my little brother, there were 3 of us when he was 6, his friend stepped off a curb, fell under a cement truck, cracked two heads that day Gary did everything in excess, booze or drugs got married, had kids, tried to live a good life his ghosts caught him, and he left his family went here and there, never staying long smothered in his pillow, too much vodka and valium. Written March 31st, 2002 © on Mar 31 2002 03:21 AM PST   18 • 0 • 1