Monthly Archives: June 2025

Under the Lawn

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The weekly prompt from my Florida writers’ group was “the lawn”, and this is my response. An additional challenge was to tell a story with a twist.

My daddy complained each time that it rained,
Soaking into our green, front lawn.
“The rain makes grass grow!” he’d curse, soft and low,
Wishing it just would be gone.
But when the sun came, it also got blame
For helping the grass to grow.
For that always meant my daddy got sent
Outside in the heat to mow.

He had a lawnmower with which he would lower
The height of each blade of grass,
But it took him hours, avoiding Mum’s flowers,
Or she would hand him his ass!
He’d curse and he’d moan, a tad overblown,
Back and forth across the lawn,
Cutting the grass down, his face in a frown,
Until at last he was done.

But then one sad day, he looked o’er my way,
Saw me lounging by the pool.
“It’s ‘bout time we shared this job,” he declared.
“You’re makin’ me look the fool!”
I wasn’t impressed at ending my rest
To take over his irksome task,
But I gave it a go if only to show
All he had to do was ask.

But Daddy was quick once I took a lick,
And soon the job was all mine!
I sweated and toiled while Daddy, well-oiled,
Got a tan in the warm sunshine.
And now it was him who went for a swim
While I pushed that mower hard,
Cursed the rain and sun, just like he had done,
For growing grass in our yard.

But now, I don’t mow the lawn when it grows,
I just let it go to seed.
And nobody’s there to utter a care
That everywhere there’s a weed!
I’m back by the pool, and everything’s cool,
For at long last, Daddy’s gone
To his final rest…and have you already guessed?
I buried him under the lawn!

That Was That!

The following piece is my response to a prompt for the Florida Weekly 2025 writing contest, to write a story no more than 750 words, about the accompanying photo of an old car abandoned in the woods.

“Nosiree!  I plumb don’t b’lieve that, Jed!”  A trail of acrid smoke rose into the cool, autumn air from the pipe clenched in the old man’s mouth.

“I’m tellin’ ya, Ezra, it’s the honest-to-Jehosophat truth.  My daddy tol’ me hisself afore he passed.  That there vee-hicle’s been rottin’ in the woods since you an’ me was puppies!”

“Yessir, that part’s true, but all’s I can say ‘bout t’other part is your pappy was mistook!  That vee-hicle was built in Dee-troit city in the 1940s, ‘bout the time you an’ me come into the world.  Bonnie an’ Clyde was killed by revenooers back in the dirty-thirties, so no way they was gallivantin’ ‘round in that vee-hicle!”

The old men were rocking in ancient chairs on the decrepit porch of Jed’s cabin, a jug of homebrew on the floor between them.  Idly watching leaves fluttering to the ground in the gentle breeze, they were chewing over a favorite topic of conversation in their backwoods community.

Jed took a deep draw on his own pipe.  “Well, if’n you’re so sure ‘bout that, what’s your story?  How else could that ol’ wreck come to roost in the middle of the woods?”

“Way I heard it,” Ezra opined, wiping his mouth after a swig from the jar, “some city-slicker come to town drivin’ ‘er, an’ he run afoul of ol’ man Jackson.”

“Sheriff Jackson?” Jed asked, reaching for the jug.  “Ol’ Hick’ry?  He was a mean ‘un, so’s I ever heard.  Not a boy to fool with!”

“My ol’ man thought so,” Ezra nodded, banging his pipe against the side of his chair.  Watching the dottle fall to the wooden floor, he waited a moment to ensure it was extinguished.  “Daddy got hisself locked up more’n once by that boy.”

“Yeah, my ol’ man, too!” Jed said with a toothless grin.  “But what ‘bout that there city-boy?  What happened to him?”

“You ever looked inside that vee-hicle?” Ezra asked.

“Nosiree!” Jed declared.  “Laid eyes on ‘er once or twice through the trees while huntin’, but never wanted to get close.  Word is, she’s haunted!  Way I heard it, Bonnie an’ Clyde is still inside!”

“Bullcrap!” Ezra exclaimed.  “I already tol’ ya, they was dead an’ gone afore that vee-hicle ever rolled off the Dee-troit line!  But you’re right, she is haunted, sure as I’m sittin’ here!  Way I heard it, that city-slicker’s still inside, sittin’ behind the wheel big as life…only dead as a doornail.”

“What in tarnation happened to him?”

“Like I said, he got hisself mixed up with Ol’ Hick’ry.  Folks say it was over messin’ with the ol’ man’s daughter, if mem’ry serves.  My daddy said she was a right pretty gal.”

“Messin’ with her?” Jed echoed, taking another swallow.  “Messin’ how?”

“Not sure,” Ezra shrugged as he repacked his pipe with low-country, natural Virginia.  Striking a match on the side of the rocker, he puffed deeply a few times, then finished, “But she was a right pretty gal, like I said.”

“Don’t ‘member her,” Jed said.  “Sounds like I mighta missed somethin’.”

“Nah, she was way older’n us, Jed.  When her an’ that city-boy was mixin’ it up, you an’ me woulda still been pullin’ girls’ pigtails in grade school.”

“I only got to grade eight,” Jed said, “but by cracky, I was pullin’ more’n pigtails by then!”

The lifelong friends laughed at that, then sat in silence for several minutes, puffing and drinking contentedly, happy in the autumnal forest they’d never left.

“You really think that city-boy’s still in that vee-hicle?” Jed asked finally.  “Be nothin’ much left by now, if’n he is.”

“Hard to say,” Ezra replied.  “I ‘spect all’s we’d find if we was to go lookin’ is a pile of old bones, maybe a skull grinnin’ at us.  But don’t matter, nohow.  My ol’ bones ain’t gonna skedaddle that far, not no more.”

“I hear ya,” Jed agreed.  “But listen, what happened to Ol’ Hick’ry’s daughter?  Where’d she get to?  Maybe she’s out there in the vee-hicle with him.”

“Dunno,” Ezra said, brushing a fly from his forehead.  “All’s I know is Bonnie an’ Clyde ain’t out there.  Not ‘less they rose up from the dead like Laserman…that guy in the Bible!”

“You sure?” Jed said.

“Yessiree!” Ezra said, smacking the arm of his chair.  “An’ I’ll tell ya why.  That there vee-hicle out there’s a Stoodiebaker, but Bonnie an’ Clyde drove ‘emselves a Dodger!”

And that was that!