Go West, Young...Person

Go West, Young…Person

My granddad, unlike me
was born in Tennessee.
And his death occurred
years before my time.
“What brought him here?” I asked.
“Son, that’s all in the past,”
was an answer I believed
not worth a dime.

So I went to Tennessee
and worked for the family
harvesting the fields of “backer”
whence I came.
When I felt I’d shown my salt, I inquired about old Walt
and it teared my auntie’s eyes
to hear his name.

“Boy, we loved our Walter so--
it broke my heart to see him go.
Tho he had no other choices
I can think.
He was really a good man.
But, son, please understand
that your Grampa
well…he liked to take a drink.

She continued with the tale
which included a young female
who my granddad took a shine to
so she said.
But when she opted to wed
another man instead,
Walt rode his horse inside the church
and shot him dead.

“Was it love or was it booze?
Did he win or did he lose?
Did he gain the girl
by being such a showman?”
The girl, he did not gain,
and although it sounds insane
he escaped to Arkansas
dressed like a woman.

“Auntie, let me get this straight--
Grampa had to relocate,
so he crossed the Mississippi
dressed in drag?”
No wonder I’ve had to pry,
for to some this might imply
that my dear-old, long-lost grand-dad
was a fag.

But to cross-dress is okay
if it helps one find a way
to evade a crime of passion
and the skids.
And my granddad’s orientation
doesn’t need much speculation,
for my dad was only one
of thirteen kids.