R.I.P. Bill “Casey” Case
The forest all around us
as we smoked the joint
back in the way back
and Casey was yelling
into the ether, “Yahoo,
Mountain Dew” because
he was a mountain man
born into the wrong time.
Too late, too late the birds
sang; they knew he was out
of time. Casey was a big
man, muscled to the core,
worked as a house painter
when he worked, drank like
thirsty ground no matter
what bar he was in. “you don’t
tug on superman’s cape, you don’t
piss into the wind,” but he could
and did. If you stepped on his
toes at the bar, he would put
you through the window, if there
was one; flagged from every bar
with a window he was. There
were other tales of Casey
I could tell you; he messed with
the devil drugs; do I have to
name them? We were in
my car, his strong arm on the
back of the seat, probing with
the needle to find the elusive
vein; the police parked down
the street and we all scattered
like the wind; Casey was gone
and now he’s really gone. Casey
was older than me; wasn’t afraid
of anything. But when age catches
up and the scars of the old life
take their toll; who can blame him
for deciding to opt out? Swollen with
Hep-C, with warrants to send him to
steel and stone for six months in
the heat of Florida with a body
that he could no longer control and
a mind that knew the truth. No one
can cast the stone unless you were
in his soul to feel his pain. So he
took it upon himself to decide his
fate and when the police came to
take him away, Casey was already gone
and no one could bring him back
unless God gave him another chance
in a new body, in a new place, in
a new time, raised up by new spirits.
