Review of Days of Heaven (1978) by Hindénbörg E — 05 Jan 2008

Every day at 5:30 my grandpappy use to sluggly walk through that door with his back all torn up in knots and collapse into the kitchen chair. Spending 10 hours a day out in the pastures, sucking gallons of warm semen from erect bull penises will slowly destroy any man, he use to tell us. Regardless of his age, history, or how healthy he was at the beginnin' of the workday it didn't much matter by the end. At dusk they all went home the same way, crippled-up on the inside and out. With mouths like cotton all these men ever cared for was to chug enough cattle sperm in a week to put food on the table for us kids, five bags full of dumpster-enriched chinese food was all it took to make our lives easier. All my grandpappy expected in return was a glass of freshly drained hamburger residue that collected at the basin of our George Foreman grill to greet him on the Kitchen table every night when he came home.

Our lives weren't all that complicated back then. It was routine on the farm, and everyday it was the same-- that was for the better, and it was much simpler livin' back then. But one day 5:30 hit and Grandpappy didn't come home to greet us with his crusty white sperm-saturated mustache. He didn't come home at all. We spent a whole afternoon searching for him, but we gave up hope and figured that he just ran away or got hit by a car or sumptin' like dat.

For a week I would miss him, and look into that sky and see that moon and wonder if he saw the same moon as I did. But then Grandma went to the pound to find a new Grandpappy and I just stopped wonderin' about that.