Primarily a music critic and photographer, I have a love of poetry that exceeds, albeit barely, my ignorance of prosody. I live in Western Quebec a sh ..
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A lie was worth a nickel in the close darkness of our '53 Dodge its showroom shine swallowed in the early night in the dips nd curves of a January township road.
Company was coming Mama wanted us in bed early before our favourite TV show my brother who could not read and me. I knew the TV Guide by heart.
If I would tell little Robbie our show was cancelled that night, just once, a nickel would buy a candy bar two red pencils or half a comic book.
A dozen night roads later the nickel was still in my pocket. I'd told another lie and been caught at school.
Nice people don't tell lies, Mama said. I mentioned the nickel. You're making that up, Mama said, I always tell the truth.
Next morning I put my hand in my pocket. It was empty.
I learned easily to lie and well. Learning not to was harder. I do it even now but not often and not for a nickel.
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11/28/2009 6:50:17 PM. #.26# You Are Here:
To Tell the Truth by Richard Todd