Dark Legend Poem by Buddy Bee Anthony

I'd love to tell you a story
full of courage, hope and infinite possibilities.
One with a triumphant and inspirational, happy ending..
A tale of bravery, valor and blood sacrifice
This isn't the story
I can tell you about
my elder brother, Matt.

If you didn't know us better
you wouldn't think we were related..

Even though, mom had her secrets.
she assured us we were blood brothers.
However, , Matt was six foot two,
with a sturdy, wiry build.
He had wavy brown hair with coal dark eyes.
Where I'm
five feet eight inches tall
with light curly, Einstein hair,
green eyes.
thick in the middle..
Matt had a short fuse.,
hot headed, unpredictable and impulsive.
He used to tell our parents
off something fierce.
On more than a few occasions,
Matt and our father
would have heated arguments
that could lead to knock down
drag out fights.
One time, tensions boiled over and
Matt knocked our dad to the floor.
punching and kicking him
Matt was screaming at our dad,
and calling him horrible things
I hadn't heard said before.
Mom was yelling her head off.
I did what little I could
to break them up.

This was back
in the 70's..
A time when most everyone had
secure jobs with renewable streams of income
coming in.
A hopeful prosperity was in the air.
If you had something
you shared it, even flaunted it.
Today, if you have anything extra,
you keep it a tight secret.
Back then, If you had a sail boat
a house boat, a cabin cruiser
You'd tool around in it.
cruise on over to your neighbor's
lakeside cabin, have a cookout.
No boat or cabin
no problem you brought the refreshments, or the food
It was a glorious time because,
You could screw up,
even make graven mistakes in judgement,
and society trusted you to learn from
your mistakes.
A boneheaded play wasn't
a black mark and game over,
for your future and your reputation.
There was greater latitude
for risky, even outrageous behavior.
Not like today when everyone seems to be
boxed into being either a perpetrator
or some hapless victim waiting to be victimized.
Most sticky matters were dealt with in house
We didn't cry wolf.
We weren't as woke
and in touch with our feelings
Ledgers and social registers weren't so finely drawn
separating those gorging on liver pate'
and Baluga Caviar,
and those living paycheck to paycheck.
There was still room for open navigation
to secure one's piece of the pie.
Still, it shocked me
when our pops bought Matt a new car
the day after their brawl. Beat up dad,
get a new car....
Now Matt, when driving,
was an artiste' behind the wheel
His first week on the road
he hit and killed a neighbors dog.
The strange part about this incident
was the dog was chained up
deep in it's own yard.
With my brother Matt behind the wheel
he provided much new business
for auto detailers, body shops,
auto repair, mechanics, Auto
insurance companies
and their claims adjusters
junk yards.
Fast, and steady money flowed in
for fencing workers,
sprinkler system makers and installers
landscapers, along with lawn and turf companies.
Matt was a doughnut specialist.
If you made the critical error of ticking him off
He'd leave you his calling card;
Burnt rubber, ripping up your property.
No one was safe.
The next day you might awaken
to a torn up yard
that resembled drunken aliens
laying down bad crop circles.
Golf courses were especially at risk.
Matt had been sweet on this gal
from the other side of town.
She had a best girl friend.
She made it clear to Matt,
her girlfriend was to accompany them on their date.
Against Matt's protests,
another boy had to show up or no go.
Guess who was selected to tag along?
He told me
he had to find someone to
fill in as his second man.
He said it would be a great time
and I should get dressed now
so 'he' could get going.
It was summertime.
I liked going for rides.
Why not.
He was my brother
and he needed my help.
So, we took off in Matt's latest new car
and as we were approaching the meet spot
with the girls,
Having just swigged the beer he was drinking,
he bent down to grab another one,
But, didn't notice the driver in the same lane ahead of us
who was now at a complete stop,
with his left turn light blinking, waiting for
an opportunity to make a legal, left turn
It all happened in slow motion.
Although the speed limit was 35 miles per hour,
Matt, unaware, was tooling along, at a steady clip
of 55 miles per hour, as we slammed into the back end
of this man's car.
I tried to alert my brother before hand,
screaming to his deaf ears,
'STOP.'
Of course, the accident was all my fault
for not reacting in time to lean over into his lap,
so I could
heave up hard
on his emergency brake
while turning
the steering wheel,
out of harms way.
I did manage to stuff
his many empty beer bottles in plain sight,
underneath the car seats
before the police arrived,
so they wouldn't
be blatantly visible.
After filling out a brief accident report
Matt decided
this whole incident was just a minor set back.
and drove away with his mangled front fender,
scraping against his front tires.
barely managing to arrive at
his date's house,
I sat grumbling in a fold out chair
while he made out
with both girls on their couch.
Of course, our father took care of everything
and bought Matt, yet another car.

Matt and I never went on another double date.
Perhaps dad was afraid of my brother.
Whose street name was 'Crash'
He lived hard and fast
and he died the same way
from friendly fire,
in service to his country.
Looking back, I feel
our father lived vicariously
through my brother Matt,
his eldest son.
providing Pops with
the buzz of adventure lost.
It's easy to imagine
if we had hit this man's vehicle today
Matt would have been charged with DUI
He'd be handcuffed,
taken to jail.
He'd have to go to alcohol treatment.
go to court, and if he was lucky,
He'd be mandated to wear an ankle bracelet at home.
He'd lose his driver's license.
Pay all court fees.
He'd be assigned a probation officer
who'd give him random,
and frequent urine analysis.
And, with his nature,
all this red tape would
only add fuel to his fire.
So, we can toss in a court mandated
anger management class as well.
But, hey, this was the swingin' 70's.
You could legally drink at age 18.
They didn't yet use breathalyzers, either.
and who had pee tests?
The rule makers knew some kids were untamed,
Not yet settled down and civilized
with still much left to prove.
Personalities were disorganized and in flux,
Reputations, could be bigger than life.
evolving into legends.
.
All our sharp young edges weren't shaved off.
Cars were heavily constructed from solid steel.
Not slapped together with light weight composite,
fiberglass and aluminum.
They were solid, with reinforced steel bumpers
and like us, they didn't crumple easily.
Bullet cars were built to last.
Gasoline was 35 cents a gallon.
These were different times.
My brother wasn't saint or madman.
He served in the U.S marines
and died from friendly fire.
But. in his time
Matt was a dark legend..





All publishing and editing rights reserved as is by this author
Re-edited 11/30/2022 @ 6: 48 AM Pacific Standard Time
Buddy Bee Anthony