Sui Generis

The bucket seat was a one and only

Literally a metal bucket

Excavated from the roadside weeds,

The discarded refuse of some high flying pickup truck

Passing through the emptiness of his loneliness

On the way to the relative excitement of a town that never woke.

But the can was a suitable support for him to plop his boney ass

And just stare down the road,

Making up rhymes

While waiting for the excitement

Of one car to pass by.

One rarely did…

His life was far removed from the sedations

Of the faux urban stylings of the small country town

Somewhere up the way.

His home was way out in the boondocks

Where so little traffic came by

That his rhymes would turn into mumbles,

The boredom scrambling his coherence

As his butt hugged the round bench

Like the weeds that grabbed the bucket

All those years ago.

By chance a reporter noticed him sitting there

In the heat of a Virginia summer 

And pulled over to write the old man’s story.

The young scribe, weened by his parents on Ella Fitzgerald and bebop,

Couldn’t understand a word the man spoke

But when the bucket sitting, bearded rapper spit

His roadside stylings spoke to the journalistic cub who was

Looking for anything to write about

In a town where naps were the pastime and

Time passed frequently under the closed eyes of the locals.

Somehow the Internet picked up the story

Of an old hillbilly hipster hip-hop talent

Performing on a lonely road for just the trees and the wind.

People woke up and began driving out to the country for a listen

To this self taught poet who favored rap to silence

And hung by himself at the end of his country road 

Mumbling some rhymes with a humble beat.

He became a sensation with offers to perform

At the name-your-local-crop-festival,

Which he refused, of course,

Selling out instead

The shoulders along the lush fields of his turf and 

Dropping his obscure rifts,

With the same oratory ease

Once reserved for the wind and trees,

To the rested pilgrims who made the drive

Seeking release from their mundane lives.

All was nearly as it had been before success.

Only now he carried on with two buckets,

One for a seat,

The other for the appreciative donations 

Recognizing his unique talents

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