LEROY

Oh, is there some kinda hoedown goin' on here tonight?

HAZEL

There sure is, Mister.

LEROY

Ah, oh!  I do love an old time fiddle tune.

HAZEL

You'd best not go stickin' your nose in there, Mister.  This is a private shindig.

LEROY

Look at all them young couples a-dancin'.  Puts me in mind of my own Missus, God rest her soul.  Oh, and that couple there—ain't they cuttin' a fine figure together?  She is lovely!  And he's just... Clay?!  By God, that's my son!  I'll kill him!

HAZEL

Hold tight there, boys.  Didn't I tell you that man was a loon?

Easy now, Mister,
That boy ain't your son.

LEROY

Like hell it ain't!

HAZEL

You said he's a lowlife.
Well that sure ain't one.
Study that man some...
Steady and handsome and slim.
That ain't him.

LEROY

I'd know that ugly mug of his anywheres!

HAZEL

No he don't much resemble 
The son that you described.
You might rightly blame it
On the shine you just imbibed.
Or maybe that chink in 
Your head's caused your thinkin' to swim,
'Cause that sure ain't him.

That's a lad who's gettin' on in this life.
See the womenfolk fawn upon the boy?
See him brimmin' with pride?
And there at his side,
See his soon-to-be bride?

LEROY

Not my boy!  Never in a million years!

HAZEL

Exactly.  Not your boy at all.

Pardon me, Mister,
But an imbecile could see
That you ain't the trunk of his family tree.
A grizzled old stump of a man such as you
Couldn't grow such a graceful young limb.
You been wanderin' these mountains
With a crack in your skull,
Like a wore out old warship
With a hole in the hull,
Brain pan a-gapin'
And good sense escapin'.
You're too dim
To know that ain't him.

LEROY, HAZEL

Yes, I guess I'm (your) gettin' on...

HAZEL

All your best years behind you.

LEROY

Long gone...

HAZEL

And the unmuddled mind you once had,

LEROY, HAZEL

Now it's gone bad
Like moldy old cheese.

HAZEL

Now's the time for gettin' on.

LEROY

Yes, I reckon I'd best be.

HAZEL

Begone!

LEROY, HAZEL

Let the sun in the west be my (your) guide.

HAZEL

Go and hide behind them there hills.

LEROY

Find a lonesome old cabin,
Or a cave for livin' in.

HAZEL

 Where there's no need to wipe off
The slobber from your chin.

LEROY

'Cause no store of wishin'
Will cure a condition so grim.

HAZEL

Odds is slim.

LEROY, HAZEL

It's a tough row to hoe now,
But it's for my (your) own good.

LEROY

So I reckon I'll go now.

HAZEL

Yes, I wish that you would.

LEROY

That's what's best for society.

HAZEL

And best for your son.

LEROY

My son...?  My son!

HAZEL

Oh, hon'...
That ain't him.

LEROY

That ain't him...

LEROY, HAZEL

That ain't him.


© 2009 by Peter Mills