Michael Jones
BUBBA COUNTRY
Nineteen and drivin my fly ass whipto Malvern to visit my grandparents.Could taste freshly killed bird and homefries cooked in a skillet cast in 1914.Sugar, honey, baby, swirled in the airI breathed. And that foul goat Rocky,who chased me when I was eleven, that bastard still had the run of the farmbut now had tennis balls on his horns. Drove on I-20 stereo bumpinstopped at the Blue Monkey Loungefor a leak and caffeine. I knew I was in bubba country when nigger this nigger that slurred from a man in Carhartt overallsslobbering drunk and staggering my way. The crowd drifted back but the niggershit didn’t faze me after living in the south.I wasn’t going to run from a fist fight. The asshole pulled a pussy gun,a twenty-two that spat a bulleteight millimeters into my shin. Blood gushed over my boot as I ran. Bulletwound flamed when I put in the clutch. Tongue felt heavy, face weighted and drained. Stopped in front of the police station, world dark in my vision. Lay my fist on the horn.Pissed off cop came out to see what was wrong. Dude was six seven six eight and called me son. Carried me like a baby into the station, asked a few questions, dispatched a car to the bar. Felt like a forkliftwhen he hoisted me back up against his body armor. I slumped in the rear of his vehicle. The doc at the hospital called mesir. Plucked that bullet with a pair of blueplastic forceps. Filled the hole with bone putty. Hurt like a motherfucker. Called Grandma.She blessed me out for not calling sooner. Grandpa wanted to off the guy. The asshole at the bar was still tossingback shots when the cops arrived. Got three hots and a cot for two years. If I had walked into the bar and shot that redneck for fun, I would have beendrug behind a truck or hung. —from Rattle #83, Spring 2024
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Michael Jones: “I am the middle child of 12 siblings from three marriages. I grew up in gang-infested neighborhoods around military bases in Southern California. After high school, I broke the cycle of young black men perpetuating street violence and enlisted in the Army. This career would show me the world in many spectrums: The beauty of different cultures, the splendor of nature, and the horrors of combat. After the service I attended 2 HBUs, Bowie State and Howard. Though experienced in life, I learned my history through academia and gained a greater sense of pride in my past and more hope for my future.”
Related* “Army Memorial Service: Tikrit” by Gordon Kippola * “Pancakes” by Richard Krohn * “For Ahmaud Arbery, an Unarmed Black Jogger Killed for Allegedly Looking in the Window of a House Under Construction” by Michael Meyerhofer