Hiram and Johnny

HIRAM COON, 1866

Hiram Coon had an “ungovernable” temper.
A farmhand with prison in his past,
And part of his right ear bitten off,
He and his wife ate at the same table
With Mr. and Mrs. Laker and their youngsters.
Though Mrs. Laker thought it a waste
To serve him steak, and cautioned
Hiram Coon not to talk about her ‘round town
If he partook of drink in taverns.

Hiram Coon knew a woman like Mrs. Laker
Was just looking for a quarrel with him.
Hiram Coon knew a woman like Mrs. Laker
Never had the damned Irish taken out of her.
Hiram Coon knew one sure way to fix that.

While they all ate the steak his wife cooked,
Hiram Coon excused himself and went outside.
At the woodpile, he tucked the ax in his waistband.
Returning, Mrs. Coon saw barest bit of ax blade.
Rising, she tried to put herself between them.
Hiram Coon shoved down his wife, determined
As he was, to take the Irish out of Mrs. Laker.

Mr. Laker fumbled past the fallen Mrs. Coon,
The Laker children whimpered in their chairs,
A single candle sputtered on the table.
Mrs. Laker picked up her chair, bumping it
At Hiram Coon as she backed into the pantry.
Hiram Coon swung high above it, hitting Mrs. Laker.

From the back, Mr. Laker came at him kicking.
Hiram Coon fled out the door, and past the barn.
They sent the oldest Laker boy for Dr. Moses
While Mrs. Coon bandaged Mrs. Laker’s head.
Mr. Laker stood at the door with gun in hand
‘Case Hiram Coon was of a mind to do more harm.

Now everyone was talking about Mrs. Laker
In the taverns.  She died some six days later.
The same time Hiram Coon was caught nearby.
No one would testify on his behalf, not even
Mrs. Coon, and the jury found him guilty.
Hence Hiram Coon was sentenced to be hung
His spirit then released from its clay tenement.

JOHNNY, 2009

Johnny is serving thirty-one years
For killing his eight month old son
I think of lying face down in his living room
Only the week before as he tattooed
My daughters’ names around my ankle
And we made small talk about birds

Johnny draws better than anyone I know
Despite his car accident, his brain injury
Sometimes his mother shows me pictures
He has drawn in prison with a 3” pencil
They do not let him have a sharpener
Johnny’s mother was sure she would lose her job
When the story made the newspapers
She had to testify at the trial, her son
The perpetrator, and her grandson the victim.

Sometimes people wonder what kind of person
Could commit such a heinous act? They wonder
What kind of parents could raise such a son?
I knew, and watched them struggle.  Mightily.
The daughter killed by a drunk diver, the son
Who never wanted to be the oldest, and the demons
That he fought, the family that struggled with him.

My daughter wanted to go into law enforcement.
My daughter's world was very black and white.
We talked about Johnny, I wanted her to know
The circumstances that can color a situation,
The shades of gray that follow us all.
Black and white, I want to tell her, is for piano keys.