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Works of fiction and poetry by friends of Bamboo Ridge Press.

Bamboo BuckarooBAMBOO BUCKAROO

I am born. . . . If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.

THIS IS A YEAR OF THE DOG CONTEST ENTRY

Dat Buggah Ma Fadda (Part 2) by HOMELESSINHONOLULU (revised)

Published by BAMBOO BUCKAROO | Friday, August 31, 2018 11:00 PM


100 words for August


"So what da buggah said?"
ma madda asked afta
ma fadda dropped me off.

"About what?"

"About what?" she said,
mocking me. "How about
what he promised fo pay
me in child support?

About what?

How about what he owes
me for trowing one brick
tru my windshield?"

She sat at the table looking
out da window, her eyes
neva looking at mine.

I always hated wen she
brought him up.

Even yeas afta, wen
I tot she wen foget him
longtime already, she
go, out of da blue,

"Dat buggah was one
real piece of shit
I tell you."

* * * * *

I neva saw ma fadda
trow da concrete brick
true da windshield of
ma madda's cah

but was obvious wen
I wen come home from
school an wen see da
brick laying on her dash

dea must have been
plenny angah, plenny
violence fo lodge da brick
halfway true da glass.

Ma madda could do
dat to one man, drag
her finganails true da
chalkboard of his back.

She wen leave da brick
like dat for days an den
wen call all her friends
fo checkom out.

"Imagine driving around
town wit dat!" she would
say, an everyone
would laugh.



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