(For Paul Mooney, 1941-2021)

Our uncle on the idiot box has
turned off.
His was the one that loved you
but would lay that embarrassment of yours,
all and only familiar, full on the world
table to be known for all of
its casting and color right there
posing with the attention of good
food at Gran’mama’s to teach you.
He was the laughing man that
tried your nerves and garnished
your playtime with a lecture
before he bothered to gave you a quarter -
later you learn the lecture was
definitely more bankable.
Sure, you would hear his voice
thunder before you saw him whenever
he visited and dashed for some distance,
but later on when you think he’s
gone, a “Hey there, young blood, where
ya going? You don’t know nobody?”
squats on your eardrum and then
that magic finds you after one pat on
the shoulder and one more shot at how
skinny you are here comes more lectures
flowing next as advice bonding to life,
so your love can come from respecting
him outright.

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Jarrod Lacy is an appreciative late bloomer and Gen-Xer from the Tennessee Valley who describes himself as a simple explanatory poet and was inspired to further his poetic explorations after hearing his 11th grade English teacher recite a poem in class. An eternal fan of strawberry ice cream and Brick Breaker-style games, he has managed to get an early number of his poems published in various publications. Currently, he’s writing one poem a day and exploring plans for his first book of poetry.