The Baghdad Kentucky Still Poem by Carolyn Ford Witt

THE BAGHDAD KY. STILL

My Daddy told me stories
Of the Prohibition days,
Of bathtub gin-and flappers
And my gram-maw's teetotaling ways.

They took a trip to Great Uncle Jims'
To find a jug or two
Of our extended families'
Ultra-famous old Home-brew.

After dark they went out driving
To find a shack upon a hill
Where they sold whiskey from the valley
Where they hid the copper still.

The men, they stood upon the porch
With guns propped on their knee.
Back in the hills, on an old dirt road
Down in Baghdad, Kan-tuck-eee.

My gram-paw did the talking
And he laughed and joked a while,
Then down the old back country road
They drove about a mile.

One jug they put into the car
The other in the trunk,
Before the four got back to town
Everyone of them were drunk.

My gram-maw was so mad at them
She wouldn't let them in the house,
And by the time the sun came up
All were quiet as a mouse.

After about a day or two,
Everything was back to norm'
But Gram-paw-his brother-Dad and
Uncle Ray were lower then a worm.

I've never seen my gram-maw mad
And now, I never will,
But I'll never forget the story
Of the Baghdad, Kentucky Still.

Author: Carolyn Ford Witt
10-20-05



By Ms. Caroline


© 2006 Ms. Caroline (All rights reserved)