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At Wolf Cave, McCormick’s Creek, July 2014
Maria gabbed the whole time
we wriggled through the black—
which was good because
cool and slimy as it was—
I broke into a sweat
and began to hyperventilate.
Maybe kids love such worming
because kids are Tiktaaliks,
and have tough elbows and knees,
or just know the dank black home
we can no longer fathom.
Mother’s Day, 2023
Before killing the chipmunk with a spade,
I lay in my hammock trying to appreciate
how perfect everything might be
if only my brain could stop.
The chipmunk groveled in circles
with its neck twisted like a broken twig
as it tried to go back—with eyes popping—
to before my cat had maimed it.
The spade was in my garage.
My cat observed her victim in the grass.
The hammock was in the past.
In the present, this creature
between me and my patio
suffered as no creature ever should.
Late April 2023
Across the street, the Garza’s dogwood
has popped, all snowy white, like confetti
bobbling but not falling
against its background of green and brown.
Mr. Garza couldn’t know
last winter when he startled me
trudging up my driveway
after taking out the trash
in the ice-pellet dark.
“Goddammit!”
“GOD FUCKING DAMMIT!!!!!”
A mob of giant rats grappling?
No, Mr. Garza on his knees
fumbling bottles and cans as they clank
from a ripped garbage bag—
a gooey spill of kitchen sludge
punctuating a cacophony
of incongruously hissed curses
under that dogwood’s cold skeleton.
“…mutherfukkinsonofabitch…”
I had never, until then, heard
Mr. Garza say anything, not even hi.
But he’d wave back, and almost smile—
fat Mr. Garza, in his plaid, fur-lined
hunter’s cap and rubber galoshes
heaving out of his Hyundai
that he always backed into
his appliance cluttered garage
I guess to blast off all the faster
each morning before sunup
toward whatever hellhole
was his job.
Summer, 1975, Speedway, Indiana
Going commando meant wearing no underwear. We also called it going wedgie-proof. One time Mike shit his pants while we were on bikes on our way to steal Mad Magazines and candy from QuickPick. He took them off behind the Warren’s shrubs and then we hung them from their car antenna. They weren’t dripping shit but it was more than just a skid mark. More like a melted fudge bar. Mike wiped his butt with leaves then wiped it some more at a gas station over by Quick Pick. He stayed commando the whole day, all the way up until when we got back and went swimming in Ted's pool. It was almost dark by then because we’d played caroms plus a full game of Risk at the game center at Meadowood Park, plus horsed around on the monkey bars and stuff. At Ted’s, Missy, Ted’s little sister, smiled at me and later tried to dunk me. Ted’s mom made us PBJs and Fritos.
Delivery Driver
It was that gnarly bearded dude
carrying all his shit
in a green garbage bag
and wearing a ratty old
coat I could smell
just by looking at it—
a winter coat in this heat—
that dude I’d have stopped for
even though he wasn’t thumbing
but was just like in a trance
on the shoulder
of Fall Creek Parkway
that got me thinking
what a great summer
because instead of sleeping
in my car, I’ve been sleeping
with my girlfriend,
who'd said that one night
if I got a job
she'd be my girlfriend
and maybe one day get hitched
because she was going
to nursing school,
and I could use
her Cavalier
that I’m driving now
with this greasy sack of Paco’s Tacos
for J.T. In apt. 7.
July 1993
Her wrists, elbows, her cutoffs, ponytail. The warmth of the asphalt on her bare feet. I think the heat had got to me. She was so cute, so beautiful. I wanted to brush the pebbles and dust from her feet, kiss her, say "I love you," and get us to the nearest place to sleep. I put the car in Drive again and rolled up next to her. "C'mon, Laurie, get in the car. I'm sorry."
Again she stayed looking straight ahead but this time gave me the finger. I pulled onto the shoulder again and and let her get small in my headlights. This time I waited until I couldn't see her anymore. I turned off the car, got out and took in the stars and crickets and heat. The moon was a yellow pearl. So much beauty we could be enjoying together. Looking at the moon I also saw her wonderful butt and her tender thighs as she stepped over some small lump in the road.
If I were to zip by her, would she make it to the next off ramp? Who would pick her up? What then?
Back in the car, nothing but wind.
"I'm sorry I called you a whore."
"I'm sorry I called you a stupid bitch."
The side of her face. I touched my knuckles to it.
She was asleep and turned away when we pulled into the Motel 8. When I pulled the seat back she squeezed my wrist.
All they had, or so the lady said, was a double with two queen beds. I went up and pulled back the sheets before I carried her up. I slept in the other bed but in the morning I got in with her and we spooned and I held her and then there we were again, trying not to gross each other out with our foul mouths, filthy tongues, and sweat and grime.