My Pickle Poem to Pappaw
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It ain't the pickles.
It's just the juice.
I hold on.
I can't turn loose.
It don't mean nuthin'
'Cept to me and you.
But now you're gone
And I'm holdin' on.
I've got my pickle.
I've got your juice,
But all alone---
What's the use?
I cry like rain
As I pour it down the drain.
11-20-01
MAINTRAIN
I wrote this poem the year Pappaw died. He died in August and this was the first time I finished a pickle jar without Pappaw here to drink the juice. Man, it's been FIVE years!
2007-05-03
18:29:13
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