I
was small and little,
she said, and both were true.
Fast,
powerful, hunchbacked—
these are not adjectives she
could use. When they first arrived
the brush was such you couldn’t run
a comb through. A whore’s tangled
head, or worse, a horse’s tail
fulla burrs and detritus. But the
folks
paid no nevermind. They cut them
trees,
built with the logs. They learned to
swim
in case the floods came. They shot
wild hogs. They drove brash
hot rods down the logging roads
to town where they worked jobs,
then drove them home again.
a
story of hard years, she said
and this was true. Her waist
ain’t narrow, nor does it detract
from the body of her daughter
sitting just
there nearby.
Those
Days of Pomp & Vigor
I’ll see your panther
and raise you wildcat,
so how you like that?
Skateboard the pristine paths
of the swank stripmall before
Grand Opening.
Grand indeed.
I’ll see that wildcat
and raise you tigers.
Our band was better
than your band, we
won 4-A state and did
the Cowboys’ game on Turkey Day.
Some band indeed.
I’ll see your mascot
and raise my mascot.
Let them totem animals
fight it out. Let's skip
the argument about whose haircut's
worse in the senior picture.
At least you weren’t wearing a boa.
“Argh, my latin atlas!” alleges
Alice. Alas the apple-cheeked
gal is angsty and alone
with an airstream alibi,
and an away-team anxiety
for anything at all.
She argues that alimony
would allocate her Argentine
appurtenances and awesome
appliances. He angrily asks
why she’d assume
he’d alleviate her aged
ass for any amount.
Asshole. Any fool may ascertain
an apartment apart
is a certainty. She’s aloof
and he’s anti-authentic,
but autobiographical audacity
allows these antagonistic associates
to eventually arrange an
agreeable new alliance.
The Market Is
A Market
But it really doesn’t
matter how pipsqueak. See
honey? Look how easy.
Cinderella nixed her fella
and the stepsisters lost
a few toes. So
what? Never say you
can’t make your way.
That’s what make is
for, why you are
you. And the market?
The market is just
a lousy market, see.
Straight from
the Headlines
The Asian monks who refuse to decay
are past their sell-by date. A
Norwegian house
nearly missed by a boulder slide
survives.
And everywhere, all over, history
continues to change in an instant.
Think we should up the press run?
Folks will want to know
that a naked bibliophile was found
buried under an avalanche of journals.
We can’t write poems fast enough,
I swear, to keep up with leg injuries,
dehydration, and sightings of UFOs,
much less the rest of this crap.
Should we give it another shot,
regardless? I’m free for the next six
months or so.