Blues and Bliss: The Poetry of George Elliott Clarke

George & Rue: Coda

George & Rue: Coda I — January 7, 1949 Near midnight, Rufus slammed the hammer Down, down —bam! — into Burgundy’s head — Like a bullet bashing the skull. The night heard a man halloo,“Oh!” At that stabbing noise, George whipped around. The hurt cab bled as black as a hearse. The moon that night: a white man’s face. Winds flickered black, slick, in the pines. When Georgie sidled down the hill, glidin Back to the car, Br’er Rudy already had Burgundy’s wallet tugged out his pocket. Blood hugged Rue’s body, snuggled up His face. Giorgio shoved Burgundy aside, So he could fist cash, watch, rosary, coins. Later, George stove the taxi, a cadaver Fluffed in the trunk, in Fredericton’s snow, And slinked off, whistling, to drink, drink, drink. Snow cleansed everything, but memory. The taxicab leaked a smoke-trail of blood. Just because. Georgie weren’t chilled; he waltzed back where Rue be guzzlin blackberry wine in brand-new clothes. Rue ain’t feel nothin bad or wrong or upset. A white man was dead, yes; but they had booze and cash. 54 / Blues and Bliss ...