Home in West Virginia, sitting on the cabin porch,
I asked my neighbor:
“Do you know Virgil Tate?”
“Sure. He grew up over on Dummy Holler,
up past the snake handling church. He
used to be on the volunteer fire department.
His mom and dad are Anzel and Faye.
His sister is Ramona. She bought
Bill Miller’s place up on the old road.
He used to be bad to drink,
but he got saved and
now leads a pretty good life.
Why? Do you know him”?
“Kind of”, I replied.
“He once broke a beer bottle over my head.”
(First published in The Rye Whiskey Review, 9/4/20)
-Greg Clary
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