A good man

I used to be a good man. There are memories, strong, of sitting on the porch with Marcie. We drank sweet tea from jelly jars. The porch was cluttered with flower pots and lawn chairs and Marcie’s rainbow of flipflops. I rested my hand on her thigh and we watched the alfalfa fields shift in the wind, like feathers rising from water, and imagined shapes in the chameleon clouds. Sometimes I plucked dandelions from the lawn and tucked one behind her ear. She laughed, then scowled, then laughed again. Eventually, the sweet tea became bourbon, and the laughter became the deepest part of our summer nights. We were young, so young. I remember I wanted her and she wanted me, and then somewhere, somehow, we became poison to each other. I was a good man once, but that might just be a dream, a desire for long-ago soundness.


17 thoughts on “A good man

  1. RareBear🎶🦄🦉 May 31, 2017 / 12:11 am

    As always. Beautiful imagery and stellar story telling. I often co sided going back to shirt fiction stories myself


    • Steven Baird May 31, 2017 / 1:58 am

      lol…shirt fiction does sound like a fun challenge, doesn’t it? 🙂 Yes you should go back to it. It can be a lot of fun. And thank you. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Pleasant Street September 19, 2017 / 3:17 pm

    I haven’t seen a post in a while–hope everything’s okay at your end and youi’re just stuck in your writing room

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Mary J. McCoy-Dressel December 26, 2019 / 12:03 pm

    Your writing is so descriptive and brings memories of sitting on a similar porch with the same feelings and flip flops.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Steven Baird December 29, 2019 / 2:03 pm

      Thank you, Mary. Some things are practically universal, I guess. I hope you have a wonderful New Year ahead. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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