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Barn Razor

Granny scratched her chin and shifted in her wheelchair
Thinkin’ of the weekend when her barn was raised
How the newest land appraiser loved her acres
And how things got done back in the bad old days
She could hear the swine-a-squealin’-and-a cryin’
As her farmhand Chano bled them of their lives
Then he wiped that blade and hung it on the barn wall
With the other hatchets, sickles, hoes and knives

Swallows scattered from nearby swamp willows
But pigs dyin’ bloody didn’t even phase her
As a young girl she’d strangled Thanksgiving turkeys
And ripped her share of hogs with a sharp barn razor

Granny thought of her poor husband’s charming manners
How he’d vanished from their acres late one May
And she saw that land appraiser by her fence line
Measuring acres at the fading of the day
Chano had a first date with the vixen next door
Dressed in knock-off Chinos and some stolen Reebox
‘fore he left he filled up Granny’s wooden bathtub
Fetched her bag for a down home colon detox

Later moonlight shone through that red barn door
In beams long n thin n blue just like a laser
And a shadow rubbed some fresh milk on its whiskers
Then it scratched a close shave from that ole barn razor

Black clouds gathered slow above that nearby swampland
As that county flunky brushed his pants of dirt
He felt somethin’ warm n sticky on his collar
As a shadow wiped a farm blade on its shirt
And there’s nuthin’ that that swamp bog hasn’t swallowed
Yeah, sweet as you please it took that dead man’s Prius
Wrists tied up tight with rope to the steering column
If he floated up the law might git ideas

And the swamp bog gave a low appraisal
Of that fancy car and county land appraiser
And come morning sunlight glistened through the barn door
On the cold n wicked steel of that barn razor

Granny noticed Chano come in late that mornin’
Cos that slut next door was willin’, sweet and young
How the bog’d bubbled when her husband went down
Yeah, he must’ve had some life left in his lungs
And a farm crow saw her stand n stretch her tendons
Whole ole Chano was out haulin’ crops n hay
If he ever left her to work for that vixen
Then she’d grab that blade just like the bad old days

Swallows scatter from nearby swamp willows
But pigs dyin’ bloody never even phase her
And ole Granny rubbed some fresh milk on her whiskers
Then she scratched a close shave from that ole barn razor

©2008 Robert George