Spit

Spit "Spit" was what they called him; Cleetus Jones was his name.  And in seventy years, he'd gained no fame. He weren't no Wyatt Earp; he weren't no Jesse James.  Least those boys had decent names. Cleetus did one good thing in life. Otherwise he caused Dodge a lot of strife. They named him "Spit" for all he was worth. The "varment" hadn't changed one lick since birth! Tall, wrinkled, lanky, and durn near toothless. In his younger days, why, I heard he was ruthless! When he couldn't get around so good anymore, He'd rock on the porch, right in front of the store. "Joneses Mercantile;" yep, his twin brother ran the place. All Cleetus did was take up space . . . (And spit . . .)  Nasty habit of his made the ladies turn green.  Other town's folk got down right mean! (Can ya blame 'em?) Heck no!  Ole Cleetus didn't care.  He'd miss that brass spittoon and spit anywhere! Hot days, amber spittle would shine sure and bold, glistening in the sun like pure, liquid gold, 'Til somebody stepped in the stuff. Gettin' that off yer boots can sure be rough! (Made folks go to hollerin'; yes it did.) Fanny was the one who did most of the yellin'. This strapper of a woman makes this story worth tellin'. Most folks stepped around puddles of slimy goo; but that wasn't so easy for Fanny Sue. Walking in high-heeled boots was for Fanny a case.  She stepped in some. You should've seen her face! *She shouted . . .*  "Cleetus!  With that spittoon so close by your side, Why can't you ever get it inside? "And that revolver that hangs from your scrawny hip; what in the world will you do with it? "Should you decide to shoot it one day, let us all know and we'll get outta yer way!" Cleetus tossed Fanny a lopsided smile, then let loose with a stream; heck, that was his style! That tobacco juice landed an inch from her shoe.  She hoisted her skirts and shouted, "Lucky for you!" Stomping into that store, her face a beet red, she yelled, "One day that Cleetus is gonna be dead!" Her arms filled with coffee, flour and beans, she passed by Cleetus about to split at the seams.  As she stepped to out to cross that dirt road, what she saw next nearly made her drop her load. A rattler had slithered from its shade in the grass and was poised and ready to sink fangs into flesh! Fanny stopped breathing--she started to shake; Cleetus' jaw jigged a quiver and quake . . .  (But that was all; the man was cool.) Fanny met terror, nearly choked on silent cries. Cleetus spit And he did hit that snake betwix't the eyes. That Diamond-back cocked its head, faced Cleetus' way,  and Fanny took notion to slowly back away. With one bony hand, he yanked out his Colt, then sent a bullet straight through that serpent's throat! You know, that part right under its head?  That rattler went slack when its fangs tasted lead. Grinning, he sat back; Fanny's eyes filled with tears; Cleetus spit in peace for the rest of his years. Now, from what I understand, that brass spittoon was easy, and even at the risk of making folks queazy; Wherever that spit might happen to fall, understand that the man . . . was aimin' after all. by Kelly Varner Johnson a.k.a kvwriter and Kelly R. StevensI know, this is way off from the poetry of mine you've read, but, trust me, I write anything and everything that comes to mind.  Just like "The Rundersuk."  Very different.  So, be prepared.  Don't you love diversity?  Hope you enjoy this story.  The style and format is a bit different so it can be performed on stage, and it has!  But, not by me!  LOL!  Go wherever the poem leads.  You can't go wrong!--Love, light and truth to you all!--Kel                                 kvwriter Written April 19th, 1992 © on Feb 10 2002 02:26 PM PST, Kelly Varner Johnson    0 • 11 • 7