Older Poems from the Pen of Olan L. Smith

Liars

"Come here, Bubba. Let me smell your breath."

She put her long slender hand on his face,

And with her thumb on his left jaw and her fingers

On his right jowl she closely inspected his face

And with a gentle squeeze; his mouth dropped opened.

Moving closer she sniff his breath, face and hair,

"Well, I don't smell any smoke on you—

Cotton, come here!"

I remember thinking, Holy Crap― I'm going to die.

Momma's going to whoop me to death,

And Bubba's going to come out smelling like a rose.

I stepped closer to Bubba

Hoping some of his charm would transfer.

"Come to think about it, Mom.

Cotton did sneak away for awhile,"

Bubba stepped away continuing his lie,

"I'm guessin' he could have done something, then."

He grinned like a sly fox.

I looked at him in disbelief—

My knees grew weak

And my mouth trembled as I readied

For The Nose.

She grabbed my face

And I went under the same inspection.

"Cotton, you smell like cigarettes."

I thought, Oh God what am I going to say.

Bubba stood by mute

And my young mind sputtered these words,

"I must have stood to close to the fire. Yeah—

I remember— I was standing too close.

I swear, Momma; I didn't smoke a cigarette."

"Your eyelashes are singed!

You've been smoking...haven't you?"

"No Momma! I promise! I swear on a stack of Bibles,

Stick a thousand needles in my eye!

Honest Momma!"

She buried her nose in my hair again,

All I could think about was how it was going to hurt

While she whipped my butt.

Smoking was bad enough, but now I lied

And Momma hated lying worse than smoking.

I thought I better stick with the lying

And hope for the best, but I was

Not as good at deceitfulness as Bubba,

That skill he was not going teach me.

"Cotton C. Jones, I want you to take your pocket knife,

Go to the backyard and cut me off a willow switch!"

"Yes ma'am."

That was the longest walk I ever made, in my seven years of life.

Time seemed to stop as tears poured from my eyes.

I had an eternity to ponder the evils of smoking―

I sauntered back to our front door, willow switch in hand.

I cautiously approached her,

"Here it is," I said remorsefully.

I looked up at her with my tear stained face and pretty blues

Hoping for mercy,

Surely; she would see how adorable I was.

The switch had just commenced

When my dad walked into the house—

Bubba was nowhere to be seen.

Dad asked, "What's going on here?"

Quickly, seeing my opportunity; I ran around him

And disappeared behind his baggy pants.

Mom said, "Jim, Cotton has been smoking cigarettes."

"Cotton," Dad inquired, "Is this true?"

I replied tearfully, "No Daddy! I swear!"

My prayers had been answered, I thought.

I ran as fast my little legs

Would take me in circles around my dad's legs

As Momma continued to switched at me,

Landing a stinging blow every once in a while.

But she was hitting Dad's baggy overalls

More than me— I fell down,

And she continued to lash me.

Dad told her to stop and she did.

"Go to bed, Cotton while we talk," he ordered.

He didn't have to tell me twice;

I got up and ran like the wind.

I don't know what they said

But that was the last switching

I received from my mother,

However― I didn't stop smoking or lying

But for some reason she never mentioned it again.