The Shine Journal

ONE NIGHT IN BEAUFORT, 1972

by

Harold Kempka

Olive moss blanketing tired Magnolia limbs
Embrace the roadhouse against its bosom
Like a lonely, beaten, bastard child
Rescued from the darkened night.

Beads of sweat slide down my neck
In the balmy, sticky evening air
As I gaze at the faded neon sign
Announcing, ‘Cold Drinks, Good Food, Hot Blues’.

So I escape inside where a secluded booth
Swallows me up in its wood and leather womb
Where a blinding candle in a glass orb prison
Flickers like a frenzied Delta firefly.

An onyx-eyed, satin doll glides across the floor 
Her fleshy breasts imprisoned in a slinky dress
And fishnet stockings hugging meaty thighs
Stands with pad and pen awaiting my order 

Beneath the white hot light onstage,
A gravelly voice laments the woman
Who done him wrong, and then demands
Respect from a world showing him none.

From the darkness piercing, angry eyes
Strangle my soul, and silently murmur
“You don’t belong here Cracker.”
And I knew I didn’t, but I liked the music.

Motivation:I had joined the Marines in 1966, and stationed at Parris Island in 1972 just before my discharge. Being a naive northerner as to the continued racial tensions in the deep south after integration, I went to a rural night club with an African American buddy from the base. He warned me but I didn't believe him.

Bio: Harold ‘Hal’ Kempka is a former Marine, and Vietnam Veteran.  His poetry has appeared in Leatherneck Magazine, and his short stories have been published in Many Midnights, Black Petals, Microhorror, Long Story Short, The Shine Journal’, and the Fiction Flyer, among others.  He is a member of the FlashXer flash fiction workshop, and lives in Southern California with his wife, Celeste, and son Derek. 

Image by: David Ritter