Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: Era (02/03/11)
TITLE: You Might Consider A Restraining Order - Maw Goose
By Lisa Fowler
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Here I sits. Wrinkled paper fan in one hand, fly swatter in t’other, watching through the bars for the old woman to blow by. You know, the old woman on the goose? “Mother,” I think they call her. Well, she ain’t my Mother. I ain’t seen her but the once since my brood was knee high to a grasshopper.
Been in this slammer for sixteen months now. Count ‘em one, two… yep, sixteen big ones. Come on in ‘n sit a spell. Le’me tell ya’ how it all went down:
Once on a time- a sweltering August afternoon two years ago it was, the youngans was ‘specially roudy that day; runnin ‘round like tomorrow wasn’t commin‘. I finally finished hanging out the last of the wash (fifteen loads since sunrise no less), vacuuming the shoe, and diaperin and powderin Bunion and his twin brother Onion, when I realized the youngans ain’t had no dinner. By this time o’ day my feets achin, my backs a’ killin me, my necks a hurtin, an my heads ’a poundin!
I goed to the cabinet, throwed open the doors an’ gasped! Only thang there was a pile a’ cracker crumbs and a’ ol’ ant trap glued back in the corner. (Shoes’ known for being damp and musty, perfect for them critters, ya’ know!) Any way, I commenced to wonderin’ what in the world I was gonna’ feed the youngans; monthly rations used up, man o’ mine long done run out on us ’n all.
Well-sir - Troy and Roy, n’ Ally and Sally commenced to climbin the laces on the outside of the shoe. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Got my head to poundin plum off. Then, Billy, Nilly, Willy, and Tilly went to jumpin’ from the limps of the rotten oak out back, onto the roof and slidin’ down the tongue of this ol’ shoe. Land sakes I ain’t never heared such a racket. Skert me to death. Youngans ever’wher - a’ runnin’ through the shoe; slammin’ doors, throwin’ balls in the house, breakin’ ever last thing I got. Can’t have nothing worth nothing. Yellin an’ hollerin an‘ carrin‘ on; my nerves was shot! I’m an old woman, ain‘t ‘cha read the rhymes?
“Jimmy that better not be your baby sister you throwed down that hill to that muddy river!”
Right then’s when it happened. Court appointed lawyer man says I snapped. I ain’t so sure. Last I ‘member is finding a couple cans ‘o broth under the towels, back o’ the pantry. I slung ‘um on the table. Kin you believe them ungrateful youngans took to screamin again? Somethin ‘bout not havin no bread to sop with. I lined ‘em up - one by one, and give ‘um each a wack on the ol’ keester. Ordered ‘em right to bed, I did.
I looked over to the door soon as I got the last one under the kevers an’ there she stood, like a bad penny turned up again. That “Mother” of a goose was standin square in the middle o’ the doorway, hands on her hips and shakin’ her head. I knowed right then I’s caught.
She had me pegged for the slammer long ‘afore I ever looked up. Tell me she ain’t been watchin’ me - huh! Reckin’ she’s mad cause I got all them youngans an all she’s got’s an ol’ goose. Lord, forgive me fer boastin.
Truth is, I wanted to feed ‘dem youngans, I jes didn’t have nothin but broth to feed em. No bread, no meat, no milk, nothin. And you know what they say ‘bout good intentions; I ain‘t a‘ goin down that road. Maybe I should ‘a grabbed that ol’ goose a hers an cooked it up fer my brood.
Anyways, so here I sets- locked in this slammer for goodness knows how long. It’s all on account of that… that woman. Thangs was fine ‘till she showed up. Lawyer says it’s the end of an era er some such nonsense. Says I’m the last of a dyin breed - last a’ the squeaky clean nursery rhymin characters ‘n all. Says I done tarnished up the image, and ruint it fer the whole up - n - comin generation.
Next time I see that “Mother” I’m gonna get her - and her big ol white goose, too!
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