Poortown

I grew up in Poortown A mile down the road From hard topped streets Where Miss Eleanor lived She sat on the front porch Smoking ready rolled Eating brought on peaches And she would hide in back When she took a dip of snuff She wore nice dresses With zippers on the side And her stockings both Had seams and no holes Her shoes were shiny As a brand new nickel Miss Eleanor was not poor And she made it a point To let everybody know it She always had a new Cadillac car to drive And the sweetest smelling French perfume… I was just a boy when she Called me in her yard one day Told me how she watched me In my ragged old overalls Passing by her gate each day She asked me how a boy With no visible means Could afford to go into town Most every day and stay From morning till dusk She had no understanding How life really was in Poortown So I told her best I could The particulars of my day How Pa was sick in bed And my Ma had passed away I told her I was working for For the wealthy folk in town For my dinner and to get my Pa His medicine he had to have It felt as though she had A special kind of glass That she could use to look Right on through my lie Made me feel so small and petty Then she told me not to go Into town anymore But to come to her house And I would work for her I show the next morning To a brand new pair of overalls And some shiny Brogan shoes Not new but unlike any I’d ever had She took me to the back yard And gave me tasks to do I worked as hard as I could Just to make a good impression Miss Eleanor brought some iced tea To the settle in the shade Under the old apple tree Where we began to talk All about life and our lot in it I learned from her and she from me And when the day was over And she paid me from her purse For the work I had done And not a penny more She told me plain that the Money I had earned was mine And mine alone and if my Pa Wanted his “medicine” he’d Have to work for his own Same as I did for mine Years passed by and I grew up Miss Eleanor is gone on now But she left me all she had Which to my surprise wasn’t Very much… You see she believed That appearances could hide a Myriad of deficiencies from Prying eyes, but not the heart She taught me while appearances Were important they meant Little in comparison to character Honesty and integrity… So I sit here on the front porch Smoking ready rolled cigarettes Enjoying a brought on peach Watching the endless parade Of poor and destitute young’uns I think back to the days When I would pass by and Imagine the mystery and beauty Inside this little stone cottage And who Miss Eleanor really was… I like to think when she passed away That she passed down a little Of herself to me…