W.A. Fite

W.A. Fite
Courtesy James Villa Photography 2012

Friday, January 22, 2010

Humble Beginnings


From humble beginnings to a mediocre rise. My grandmother using rubber bands and hair ties to lock up the coffee in an unsealed pouch, not so we couldn't drink it, but so we wouldn't want it out.

The pipes that held the water frozen to the outside of her house, bound with bailing wire and old cloth. I don't know if they smelled, but they were the colour of her dirt, which was red and tar, much like the house that rested upon it.

Her head was curled in stoney white gauze that whisped like her dresses, or were they gowns?

She remembered my name from time to time and she remembered to shuffle while she stepped. At my age both seemed ineffective and discomforting.

Not much has changed.

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Lyrics: Beating Thomas Best

The Heat ride the streets in varying degrees. Some are extreme, you close your mouth when they speak. Thomas skipped a beat and wore that hooded jean, a black cat hat, and a real smart tone with his speech.

Beating Thomas Best.

The Heat told you once, don't make them repeat. "Boy don't you lie", that's a flipback grip to the thigh. Thomas raised his hands, but was slow to drop the knee. Pace comes at a price, he lost his hearing and an eye.

Beating Thomas Best.

He was the fastest in the neighborhood. It was the damndest sight we'd ever seen. A white tshirt was all we'd glean, as he rounded the corner of 5th and Betton Street. As he'd call up high unto his Maw, who was staring through that dirty yellowed window shawl, saying "I'm the boy who can't be beat! I'm the King of 5th and Betton Street!"

Beating Thomas Best.





Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Brick Hole


Fill the hole.
Throw the stones in the well.
Fill that hole.

Fill the hole.
Shovel the soil in.
That dirt is precious.

Put you heart.
And your back in the work.
Fill that hole.

There's a Brick Hole.
Can't be topped with stone.
Can't be lined with soil, it must be paved out.

That's the way it goes.
When you don't have stone.
When you got no soil, you can't fill that hole.

Monday, January 4, 2010

Lyrics: The Valley

I saw them kissing down in The Valley. Her Valley was spread out wide.
I opened closed, then shut my eyes to forget about the Fire.

I saw them groping down dear old Molly, her sweat a dripping sign that we was done, I'd just become a widower of my bride.

I came a coming with my Fire, to burn all of them inside. It looked as if my torch would take their voices and their pride.

Then I saw my dear old Molly her face a ghost of pale. My heart went quick, but not my hand so I knew right then and there.

That the Fire burning in the Valley would take my home as well. It ate my woods and coffined up Molly, Paul and Dale.

Nary couldn't of done much better, you see the heat it hides the smell, of them who burned for doing me wrong. I put them straight to Hell.