Knock it off

“You can’t just go around
making stuff up about other people,” Clem said.

Clem’s Hawaiian shirt flapped as if shutters where
left to be tortured by hurricane thrusts.

The wind blew though the grass like
tourists fleeing from bulls.

I stood there and listened to Clem speak
to a man who was dressed like Robert Mitchum
in The Night of the Hunter.

The man, a preacher-type-way-of-dress,
swayed between Clem’s words and presence.
He kept eye contact with Clem the whole time,

blinking only twice.

I stood there like an orphan on Christmas day
just waiting for something.

Not even the sounds of outside life could be heard.

“I don’t what you were thinking, but you better
knock it off,” Clem said.