What History Don’t Know

Yesterday, I posted a piece that discussed favorite places to write. Mine, strangely enough, is the waiting room at Vernon Valley Karate in Vernon, NJ, where my son takes karate lessons.

Here’s a piece I wrote in that waiting room a few days ago. It’s from my developing manuscript Breath of a Demon: the Untold Story of the Outlaw Jesse James. It’s a transition piece, difficult to grasp without the preceding poems for all the poem in this manuscript work together to form a clearly defined narrative. Nevertheless, here it is.


What History Don’t Know

Now, keep in mind, that history don’t always
speak things the way things really happened.
Remember, Qauntrill didn’t know Jesse was Jesse,
or even a James for that matter. He thought
the boy that took that gun was named Silas Thatch.
Hell, he thought he was me, but me and Frank
knew it was Jesse and both of us wanted to stop
Jesse from stompin’ down that valley with a gun
in his hand hell bent on killin’ a Yankee he never
did see before, but we couldn’t say nothin’
so Jesse kept stompin’ and that Yankee,
soon enough, stopped breathin’.
Let me tell ya what history don’t know.

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