I used to think that if I could just get my hands on a sweet potato all my luck would change. If I could just get me some bacon, some butter and eggs, or one of them lollypops.
Life’s not so simple, I guess.
Boy, did I ever find that out.
I was nobody’s rooster, nobody’s wolf, king bee, or tomcat. I was a hog for nobody’s love, a smooth lothario only in my dreams.
Come to think of it, I didn’t even have any dreams.
And backdoor man? My god, I couldn’t even get my foot in the front door.
Crawling kingsnake? Pas moi.
What was I then? What did I have, if sweet potato I had none? I was a poor man with stones in my shoes, stones in my pathway, blues falling down like hail. I was moaning in the moonlight. I was howling all night long. Bedbugs threw me out of my own bed.
Did I mention the stones in my shoes? Did I mention it was raining in my heart? That I believed it was raining all over the world?
I was only impersonating whatever it was I was impersonating in the hopes of getting my hands on a sweet potato.
I don’t know if I’d go so far as to say that I had a hellhound on my trail, but it was certainly possible. It sure did feel like that sometimes, anyway.
By golly, sometimes it sure as Sam Hell did feel just like that.
