LET US PLAY L B J

LET US PLAY L B J
Dedicated to Jay Marvin Martin

Roger A. Davis

Picture this, early 1950s in a small Kansas town
Population 600 plus, there around
We, a family of six
Dad, Mom, me, Connie, Joy and Rick

My Dad and his dad built us a new house
On the outskirts of Attica, near the city park
Three bedrooms, full basement and drive through carport
A covered cement patio in back
Viewed by multi-paned picture window

Cater-corner from us was a decaying old farm
That would have caused much property value harm
It use to be inhabited by a very large family
Now, only left with son, Jay, mom, Bessy and father, Andy

Jay was one year older than me
He was two years older than my sister, Joy at three
The first neighborhood incident was him and her
Painting the lower panes of our new picture window, pink

Upon my father's discovery, his shade went fiery red
Joy got spanked and the riot act read
Dad carried Jay to his home
And he told Andy to use their woodshed

Jay and I became friends, playing every day
From early morning until after dark
You see, he had a unique ability
When we played cowboys and Indians
Cops and robbers or army
Upon being shot, no stuntman ever did a better drop

From the chicken house roof he would topple
Or wounded, riding an imaginary horse
He would hit the ground with great g-force
To utter delight, it made my dead-eye aim unstoppable

Jay had a nickname at an early age
Because he was the last of Bessy's fold
She would call out at bed and mealtimes
"Come home, Little Baby Jay"

And if he did not respond and continued to stray
"Little Baby Jay," Bessy would continue to bay
It would be repeated until we stopped our play
Her voice still resounds in my ears today

Marbles and poker, two games we played for keeps
But Jay, being poor, did not have many resources
I devised a way that he could ante and bet
We played for personal property, TREES

Jay was held back in school two grades
I had him one year and then he was in Joy's class
After that, they just let him pass
Destined for vocational trades

The rest of the story is about those trees
I owned all of his - Roger, a poker prodigy?
No, the truth is I took advantage of Jay's slowness
To add to my boyhood empire, you see

It was getting close to noon at the LBJ corral
We had a childish argument and Jay is fighting mad
He yells at me to split and go to my own pad
I walk over to a tree and reply, "I own this, pal"

He disappears into the rundown barn
Out he comes carrying a pitchfork
Threatening bodily harm
I'm pressed up to the bark, not really alarmed

He screams and lets it go
Thank God, it was a wobbly missed throw
I chased LBJ into the ditch and made him cry
Jay had another gifted trait, telling Bessy a lie

So it was not long after, Bessy called my Mom
Summoned from the basement, upstairs I went
The story was irreparably bent
I had become the bad guy, LBJ had done a spin

I had to go cut an oak switch
I still cannot believe I got whipped
Pitched fork versus the lying and crying snitch
The scales of childhood justice had been tipped

The moral of this story is boys love their toys
If you have guns that never miss
And a friend that is an Oscar dying actor
To be unforgiving is never a factor