the night watch
by Ron Whitehead
Photo by Mama, Greta Render Whitehead.
I lifted my wind up alarm clock
from under my army cot.
I was excited to have my own room,
the long kitchen closet.
As I stared at the baseball cards and pennant flags
tacked to the wood slat wall
I heard Mama gently singing a sweet gospel song.
I looked up to see her ironing clothes.
There were clothes on hangers hangers hangers
and a waist high pile yet to go.
The clock says 10:47pm.
The night watch.
I heard a truck crunching gravel on our long driveway,
then 4 loud knocks on our blue front door.
When Mama opened the door 3 men stepped in.
One said, We need Ed."
Daddy had slipped green khaki work pants
over his boxer shorts. No shirt on.
The upset man excitedly explained that
someone had been shot and
others beat up on the picket line.
"We need your help Ed," he said.
The clock says 3:14am.
The night watch.
Screaming tires, screeching metal, shattering glass.
Yet another wreck in front of our old farmhouse.
On foggy nights folks miss the stop sign,
where gravel road and asphalt road collide.
Peering out the front window I see the rear end
of a car, smoke and fire, and a bloody face,
with arms trying to crawl out of the gully cross the road.
Racing out the front door Daddy yelled, "Stay here!"
The clock says 2:38am.
The night watch.
The telephone rang out in the night.
Mama answered. She said, "Ed, it’s the sheriff."
Yes Daddy was a farmer and a coal miner
but he was also Ohio County Deputy Sheriff.
When the Sheriff had a problem that was too tough
he called Daddy who strapped on his holster and
loaded pistol, put on his badge and cowboy hat and
said, "Somebody’s been hurt. I’ll take care of it. Go back to bed."
The clock says 1:23am.
The night watch.
My eyes popped open as Roy Orbison cranked all the way up
and another voice that sounded familiar yelled,
"Ed, bet you can’t catch us!" then
as the jacked up red Chevy Nova revved its engine
I saw Daddy slip out from the side of our house.
He was in his boxer shorts. No shirt.
He had the pump action 12 gauge shotgun
which he aimed towards the car and
as he let out the howl of 10 madmen
the muscle car set fire to the road.
Keening teenagers moaning then screaming as
Daddy unloaded the shotgun: Kaboom Kaboom Kaboom
blasting rounds skimming the top of the car. He stood
now in the middle of the road as the scared kids fled
up the road and over the hill with their hearts in their hands.
The clock says 12:58am.
The night watch.
"Ed! Ed! Hey Ed, your bull’s out!
Come on, I’ll help you get him back in!"
A man yells in the middle of the night
from somewhere out front.
The front door slams.
I don’t get up. I stay in bed.
The clock says 4lordy08am.
The night watch.
The cedar wind whistles, the pine wind whines
through the holes in the attic walls.
My dead Uncle Ray visited me again. A friendly spirit
stopping by to say hello and wish me well.
Dead relatives appear often at the foot of my bed
in the attic room my brother and I share.
We have twin beds, a lamp, an AM radio, and
my wind up alarm clock on a night stand.
The only furniture in our open rafters
unfinished floor bedroom. The only place to walk
is from stairs to beds. A vast open space
frequented by ghosts and singing wind
and my brother and me.
It snowed hard last night. The house still moans.
I know it’s time to rise and shine. I smell bacon.
Mama’s serving Daddy breakfast. I hear them talking
downstairs in the kitchen. Daddy’s telling a joke.
Mama’s laughing. And I bet there’s no school today!
Oh boy! So I close my eyes and stay in bed.
The clock says 5am.
The night watch.
Poet’s Note: Daddy worked at the mines for 43 years without missing a day of work. He was a proud member of the U.M.W.A, the United Mine Workers of America. I grew up studying the history and knowing the value of unions, of hard working coal miners and farmers, good people all. I grew up on the thin line between the pioneer past and the science fiction future, a cataclysmic age of change.
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