My Uncle Joe Poem by Clyde King

Uncle Joe, you old drunk,
I miss you.When I was a boy
you'd take me fishing on the
Potomac River. You'd get a pint
of Four Roses rot gut, drink your
self into a jolly stupor, and regale
me with stories about your brother,
my father, Jack King, and my mom
whom you called "Betty Boop."

You got cancer in your right
shoulder. The surgeons cut off,
not only your arm, but your entire
shoulder, including the blade.
After that we called you the "one
armed bandit, "-if it bothered you
you never showed it.

With almost half your upper
body gone, you looked like
one of those blown up punching
clowns, weighted at the bottom,
weaving to and fro with every
punch life gave you.

My cousin David and I used to pal
around and get into mischief often.
It was a synergistic relationship.
When you were drunk you were
always an easy touch for a few bucks.

Uncle Joe, you had a little song
you'd sing about David:
"David King, king of the Jews,
he'd shit in your pocket
and piss in your shoes! "

You'd call me Mikey
but with a southern drawl
that drew out the "i"
into a short "a."

I miss you, you old drunk.