There’re no good men out there, Mamma said, then remembers my dear Daddy who left us for booze and other women. Never even phoned once in those twenty-odd years before he dropped dead of cirrhosis in a sleazy downtown hotel.
There’re no good men out there. Big Daddy beat Gramma. Knocked some teeth out once and called her “Dumb Swede,” before he ran off with a girl of seventeen. And don’t forget Andy who lied and spent all Gram’s job money from the sewing factory. Third husband, Floyd, is a crotchety, old drunk. Mean. Brain damaged, too, from that car accident on Highway 5.
There’re no good men out there. Great Uncle Harvey was never the same after the war…nothing but a dirt poor farmer. Auntie catered to him and never got her indoor bathroom.
There’re no good men out there. Sister used her long string of them as good example: potheads, speeders, that musician, and don’t forget the Mamma’s boy who needs five Jim Beam’s for “medicinal purposes” before he can sleep nights.
There’re no good men out there. Doctor made me recall a few jokers of my own: J. who hated working and Rob with his 6 DUIs. When Doc called my latest nothing but an animated dildo, I laughed so long I about cried.
There’re no good men out there. Seems like everybody I run into says there’re no good men out there, anywhere. Maggie knows John screws any gal who gives him a second glance. Sue says her Frankie might as well be mute and every man alive is lacking.
Dianne taught grades K-3 in Los Angeles for many years. She now writes poetry and picture books for kids. Her latest, HEY, LITTLE BEACHCOMBER, was released in Nov. 2019 from Big Belly Book Co. She is a frequent contributor to the Highlights magazines.