Detroit Poetry
I split a couple of bottles of wine with Uncle Verny last night. He lives in Texas, but he grew up in Detroit. In the early 1960s, he worked in a convenience store on Five Mile Road (for those unacquainted with Detroit, everything south of Eight Mile is, well . . . check out that link). He said customers would come in and rhyme, in a distinctive swagger:
"What's the word?
"Thunderbird!
"What's your joy?
"Nature Boy!
"What's the price?
"44 twice."
Then the customers would buy a bottle or two of low-shelf wine. I thought he was kidding, and he kinda looked at me like, "You think I remember that 50 years later because I dreamt it?"
A good time with Uncle Verny last night. Good man, that V.D. (named "Vernon Duane" by his parents, my father--and his older brother--made sure he understood the import of his initials early in life).
