Friday, September 28, 2012
We ate barbequed bison ribs and drank whiskey
inside her lean-to. Her miniature paintings hung
on the slanted wall, coyotes mated in darkness.
We spied on tourists from Reno who rafted to
casinos during the day and slept in RVs at night.
In the cold mornings, when dew is still slush,
calm in hot springs watching bears fight for
edible greens and berries, we laughed at nature.
Still elated with nature, after illegally harvesting
grapes from a locally owned organic vineyard,
we made our own rotgut. We mixed whiskey and
smashed grapes, called it “Mountainbilly Wine”.
She promised that hipsters would buy it by thecase and that there will always be days like these.
My neighbor had put out a pile of “Free Stuff.”
His hand-painted sign informed every passerby
about this magnificent collection of cupboards,
shelving units (wood and metal) and a tricycle.
However, he told me that only one item was
allowed per person and that the experience
would add to the new owner’s exciting score.
He handed me a beer and asked me to stay,
drink beers, make sure people adhere to the rule.
The first person was a man in his mid-forties.
He drove by, stopped, reversed to park, killed
the ignition and exited his 90’s Toyota Corolla.
The man took it all in, looked back at his car,
scratched his head and rubbed his patchy chin.
“Howdy, would you be interested in holding
all of this for me until my buddy can get here
with his truck? I can call him now at take all
of this off your hands. Just can’t fit it...” My
neighbor cut him off, explained the stipulation.
The man grabbed a metal shelf that stands above
a toilet. He loaded it into the backseat of his car
and honked his horn as he drove away. A truck
pulled up next. A woman hopped out, asked for
a beer and help loading her truck with two shelves.
My neighbor told her only one item per person.
The woman screamed about communism, devils.
She peeled out as she took off leaving the ghostsof demons crawling after her speeding truck.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Moving Up the Ladder
Bored, one day at work,
started scribbling down
random punk bands and
spray painting my desk.
I pulled one of the beers,
that I keep in the drawer
with the employee handbook,
out and shot gunned it.
However, it wasn’t enough.
I went into the sales’ office,
found their vodka & speed.
Wanted to sell ice to Eskimos,
acres on Uranus to the masses.
But I still needed much more.
Rummaged through the desks
of Admin and found downers,
Fuzzy Navels, Sangrias, wine
and copies of the Kamasutra.
I couldn’t take it, needed more.
Went into the boss’s office
where there was gin, scotch,
and golf clubs with grass and
blood cemented to their faces.
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Sunny Day on Scorpions
She told me that she hadn’t had a favorite band
since she was a kid; when she had time for that.
When you lose something, living or not,
(a death, a misplacement)
there is a moment of confusion like made-up
David Byrne lyrics asking, “How did I get here?
This is not my wonderful life.”
Sometimes, she said, she’d rather be playing
an oboe in a tunnel with an old gunslingerthan remember what used to be normal.
Musings While Waiting for a Wiffleball Game to Start
Thunder and lightning stretch across
a wiffleball field’s childish horizon.
Rain falls weak, the storm heads west.
After ten minutes it’s two counties over.
A rainbow steps over the bad side
of the city while park goers do the same.
They arch over dog shit piles that worthless
owners are too pathetic and lazy to pick up.
They also have to get around all of the goose
shit, but no one cleans up after geese and
Long Distance Concerns
My dad called to ask me if I was managing
in the blizzard and when I told him that
it wasn’t snowing he said, “Don’t tell me that.
I’m watching the Weather Channel right now.”
My uncle called to ask me if I was safe from
the fires and when I told him that they were way
north & south of me he said, “Don’t tell me that.
I’m watching the news and they mentioned Denver.”
My mom called to ask me if I was holding-up
after the earthquake and when I told her that I didn’t
even feel an aftershock she said, ”Don’t tell me that.
I read it in this morning’s newspaper with coffee.”
My brother called to ask me if I was surviving
the daily routine of life and when I told him that
we’re all just living dreams he said, “Don’t tell me that.