TURKEY SHOOT

A turkey shoot was held one day
When I was just a lad.
Some winners here, some losers there
But most were very glad
They’d came and brought their trusty guns
And to test their eagle eyes.
To lift a jug of mountain corn,
Swap yarns, and tales, and lies.

Old Wiley had a late life son and
Garney was his name.
He didn’t have a whole full deck
But shooting was his fame.
He could hit a boomer twixt the eyes
In the tallest hickory tree
And a turkey shoot was his forte
He usually brought home three.

Mountain corn was flowing free
And Garney had had his fill.
My Daddy and Old Wiley
Were way down by the mill.
Garney raised his twenty-two
And this is what he said
As he sighted down the blue steel barrel
“Watch that fly on Pap’s bald head!”

Garney took a big long breath
And closed on beady eye.
He gently squeezed the hammer down
And we actually watched that fly.
We never thought that he would miss
That little bite sized speck,
But, ninety proof had called his hand
And he Old Wiley through the neck. 

Old Wiley fell upon the ground.
Dad knelt and closed his eyes.
Then a strange and eerie thing transpired
As Dad shooed away the flies. 
Garney stood, with a gun in hand
As he chewed on sweet birch bark.
Looked down and his dead Pa and said
“Hellfire, I missed my mark!”
There was no official law to call
To check this sad event
Or to lock young Garney in a cell
It was just an accident
No one present there that day
Who watched the young man cry
Would left a hand to do him harm
He’d merely missed that fly. 

My Daddy and my Uncle Smith
Laid Old Man Wiley out
In a coffin made from cherry wood,
Brass hinged and very stout.
Sunday was the day they picked
To put Old Wiley in the ground
At the Old Pond Mountain meeting house
And they came from miles around.

Four preachers had to have their say
Behind the last remains
Of Garney’s Pa in a blue serge suit
With dabbed at gravy stains.
The church was hot as blazing hell
Fire and brimstone, did abound
As the last man rose to have his say
Before we put him in the ground.

Brother Orin, was quoting words
Said “Lazarus, you come forth.”
Old Wiley raised up from that box
We were then, all facing north
Then a gaseous groan was then expelled
We were all facing south.
Old Wiley slowly sank back down
With a grin across his mouth.

I couldn’t get to the door
I froze there in the pew
They didn’t have a closing prayer
Because there were too few
Remaining able bodied men
That had not run and hid.
My Daddy and my Uncle Smith
Just closed the coffin lid!

We finally got Old Wiley down
Beneath the rocky loam.
I tightly held my Mother’s hand
As we slowly walked toward home.
“I know its Sunday my sweet lass”
I heard my Daddy say
“And doing laundry is a chore,