Fancypants: Why the Darkness was Agnostic & (Part I) High Falutin’

why the darkness was agnostic

beneath the slush of that leper dog’s mange
rolled a man with the flyest pants known this side of the world.
antarctica was cool as hell, yet a mere mirage next to him.

conversations with germs and dirt
never brought him down, or threw hospitals by his way.
sat sometimes in the morgue freezer with his dead lady friend.

despite darkness akin to a cave in mourning
those sunglasses would never come off.
he’d wear them along with his fancy pants n’ jive with the demons eyein’ his soul.

sun shinin’ off maggots in his toes
wind in his hair, flies in his teeth, he’d stroll
into miss marjorie’s garden of thorns to rend the flesh from his bones.

Fancypants (Part 1): High Falutin’

“Mightay sorry to rustle you from your sleep, Jackson,” said Officer Woolfe, as
I joined her for a stroll. “I wasn’t akin to your being around at this time of
day.”

“Think nothing of it, Virginia,” I replied, taking her hand. “Miss Marjorie
kindly offered me leave of her garden until such time as I feel inclined.”

“Well, she sure is a fine picture of Suth’n hospitality, that Miss Marjorie is,”
said Woolfe, looking around as she walked.

“Finest thorns in Georgia, surely. Why, I have not been here but four months,
and already I’m yielding high spirits.”

“Mighty right, Jackson, but you always did have a thing with high spirits,”
laughed Woolfe.

I smiled back, remembering the small moonshine business I ran in the woods as a
child. “Why, you have me addled by your meaning there, Officer,” I replied.

“But Jackson,” said Woolfe, looking around before she faced me again, “that
sweet Miss Marjorie, she’s done thrown a mighty fine conniption back at the house.
On account of you, from what the maid says.”

“Virginia, please – join me here at this settee,” I replied with concern,
holding my hand out towards a small blue couch that sat in between two magnolia
trees.

We walked over and Officer Woolfe sat down, smoothing her pants. I pulled out a
bottle of Amaretto brandy from under a bed of vines, and poured a glass for her.
“Jackson, Miss Marjorie – she’s not too happy,” said Woolfe, taking a sip.

“Whatever is the hassle, Virginia?” I asked,

“Jackson, Miss Marjorie, she says you’ve been rilin’ her garden a little too
long for her tastes.”

I covered my mouth in disbelief as she went on. “She says that for the past four
months, you’ve been doing nothing but loafin’ around here, n’ ruining her flower
beds.”

“Why, I never …” I exclaimed. “Are you certain Officer Woolfe? My
understanding was, Miss Marjorie being partial to my good nature, had given me
leave of this garden. Why, I was certain it does her some good, having a
respectable gentleman like myself but a kitchen call away, might any trouble
come knocking around. Her being a young widow n’ all.”

“You have maggots in your feet, Jackson,” said Officer Woolfe, sitting up a
little too straight for my morning eyes.

–

As she led me down the path, Officer Woolfe asked “What happened to you Jackson?
You were nothin’ but the richest damned man any which way from Jesup town. Why
don’t you go back home?”

“Can’t go back there, Virginia, you know that” I replied.

“Needs a little fixin’ up, sure – it’s been a year. But go home, Jackson. Fix it
up.”

“Can’t go home Virginia. Look now, look here – why don’t you drop me off at the
hospital. I feel something of a headcold coming on, n’ Doctor Chesterfield may
have a little pill or two to put my way.”

“Can’t take you to the hospital, Jackson” said Officer Woolfe.

“Why ever not, Virginia?” I asked.

“Jackson. The mortuary director called me last week. You really must stop
sleeping in the freezers” she replied.