On Hearing About Ted

by Rebecca Lawton

Doesn’t seem right
Though he couldn’t stop drinking
and had guns around
He blasted his Airstream
up through the roof
mad as hell at the orange cat
We just laughed, shook our heads

In Murphys one winter
      drunken and staggering
      hurling sheath knives
      at the new kitchen door
he sneered at our protests
fell dazed to the floor
That guy—we all shrugged—
      is deplorable

But remember his dark eyes,
lazy long mustache, shy smile
I saw him first on the road
to Camp Nine and stared,
just eighteen. My friends spoke his name
They said, Ted looks good on the river

Remember his straight days
sweet gentle words
When I wrapped on Nameless Rock,
disgraced and shivering
I gave up my boat and walked
out Lumsden Road
Ted took my call and said
      Don’t take it hard
      We all make mistakes.
      We’re here waiting for you, he said

So I thought he’d just shoot
other targets out there
But word’s gone around:
He chose himself

(First published in the acorn: a journal of the Western Sierra. El Dorado, CA: El Dorado Writers' Guild. 1995. Nominated for 1995 Pushcart Prize.)

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