wyrdwind

Standard of Living

A roof or a car, not both,

thanked all my stars for the cold,

miles through Ponderosa woods each morn

on my way to work.

On trail through thistle hills overgrown,

coarse as steel wool and undisturbed

at least until the crossroad.

A gas station open early enough

past the overpass I’d risk for breakfast.

The homeless man there insisted escort,

put himself between me and traffic

to ramble wild about raping “gooks”

to death in Vietnam.

He was banned from grounds.

Better than the packs

would attempt outright abduction

I suppose.

Our warehouse fully furnished

with only the finest dumpster finds,

we loved a good daybreak dive,

washer, dryer, toasters, microwaves,

mismatched tables, mismatched chairs,

invisible in our grungy work rags,

happy as a pile of rats in a trash palace.

Best job I ever had. Not the trash.

We did whatever was needed.

Things no one else wanted.

A liminal campus within cemetery triad,

more corvids than human folk, well

we did touch frequently on death.

At lunch pondered how each of us

might go. But when it was my turn,

Irish said no, no, no. One day

I’d just walk out into the forest,

just keep on goin’. Until the rest

of my hair turned white. They’d find

me in 1000 years’ time just the same,

deep in some evergreen cave,

too scared to meet my gaze,

and ask me how it happened,

the End of Days.

Northern Lights

We’ve established

my mind is a tricky bitch.

Things be happenin’ montage sequence,

clair-audience, voyance, echo location, you name it,

primarily contained with dreams.

When I bought my land,

chose four acres unrestricted,

won’t be answerin’

to anyone but myself.

I don’t dream of ease.

Bears, moose, wolves, several

more species, a whole biome of trees,

a bit of bog to the east.

Cloud swept volcanic peaks.

Cool ocean breeze.

Electricity at the street.

How did I get it so cheap?

A junkyard neighbors me.

I stay on theme.

Not the usual wild streak, I dream

my labor belongs to me, I make

everything I need. Land is life.

We never did see eye to eye.

Underestimated how many hits I’d take

to be free.

I don’t dream of ease.

Cards dealt, cards played.

Not the kind can settle

when it comes to my mate after all.

Too late anyway. So got my grid paper

and drew a house. Made those walls

and frames extra tall. To accommodate

who can say. I just like them that way.

I’m no master of architecture, but even so,

I woke late that night and shit you not,

lumber cuts and measurements came pouring out,

some hollow whisper inside throwing hard math down

until it was done. My mind’s tricky

but she don’t fuck up. Ice cold. Rock solid.

Call it the Doc Holliday. Don’t need to see straight

when you hit everything. No TB please. Jokes

aside, it woulda been nice, the right

kinda hand in mine, a place, a DarkSky

where my lover bursts so much milky starspray,

hungry as the black loam where we lay,

in another life.

Ugly Swan

As a general rule

I most graciously accept compliments

from little girls. Usually a shy twirl

and, “I like your skirt.”

One gasped at the airport,

punched her dad, thrust her finger

at my pants. Another

came running for my autograph

at a truck stop with my dad

and her dad said sorry,

we just left Disneyland,

she thinks you’re a princess.

Could not convince her otherwise.

I’m the most famous nobody

you’ll ever meet. Overnight

on a Greyhound and someone still

remembers me. Walking.

God forbid a girl do anything

unseen. I don’t aim to be pretty.

No make up, no flesh out, chin up,

when I speak loud it’s man down,

not the fun naked, he’s dressed down.

Gut, sword. Death rattle. Skull

floor, cracks like a watermelon.

When abuse rocked dad’s church flock,

shook his head,

said mouthing off at a woman

is taking your life into your hands,

said I’d slit his throat

ever came to that.

A princess

protects her constituents.

De-escalation

It’s been observed with emphasis,

I eat with both hands. Approval

of a Denny’s waitress when I bodied

a Lumberjack Slam. Me and the girls

go full Maenad for a meal or a dance,

he’s either stupid or a gamblin’ man,

sniffin’ ’round hikin’ a leg like that,

thinks he’s got fuck all add to that.

Rolled out, left the kids and husbands at home,

the cool single aunt and two Texas moms,

discussed the family over darts at a pub.

Innocent enough.

But come 0200 hours

between Fastrip and Carls Jr is where

lowlifes go to die. Human sewer. This guy

saw young women and wanted to try.

Us women ain’t never known DEFCON 5,

shot 3 to 2 that night.

Sneakin’ ’round the back our minivan,

fuckin’ ferrety where he packed,

’bout to get capped twice.

Right between the eyes.

That solo graveyard cook

opened the drive-thru window

right on time.

Hadn’t seen brainless scurry off the other side.

Bag in hand, dead inside,

ready to meet God or Valhalla

in the golden glow of a smiley star sign.

My girl flipped straight sunshine.

Sweet tea sundress fine.

I chimed in with customer service byeee.

Wondered if he thought maybe

we were mad about no biscuits and gravy.

Arizona Asphalt

Out here we were tumbleweed hog feral,

city brats a breed apart from us rural,

bare feet on 150 degree gravel

just to see who’d puss out first.

Our playground game was Scorpion,

dug nails into each other’s skin

just to test each other’s grip.

Pain tolerance.

Hottest peppers, meanest sours,

blackest bitters. Your first beer

was either Modelo, Heineken, or Guinness—

take a guess. We took care of business. Fight

Day right before summer break

in McDonald’s parking lot.

Got a problem? Punch it out

or let it go. Don’t

take a face shot or lose a chain though.

In school with my peers blindfolded

I was taught to issue marching orders,

they called that a game too.

Said it was about skill, trust, discipline.

I preferred it

when we snuck off campus

just to picnic under stubborn

desert trees and brush, taily grasses bristling,

broken foundation just enough green

to pretend someplace far away.

Memento Mori

Sexy on a man is softness, sincerity, effort.

Childlike wonder.

Do you know the difference

between submission and surrender,

a soldier and a warrior?

Love.

I like expensive gifts my sweet,

that is respect, affection, and loyalty.

You have to give what you receive.

Not a man among you could ever

manage to meet me. Ask a mirror

why I had to leave.

You couldn’t even recognize my altar,

couldn’t stand bare

before my wedding best.

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Dress dewdrops on orb-weaver webs at dawn.

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Hair busied purple-throated hummingbirds at nest.

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Aisle off-roading at speed in a Datsun through rain shadow desert chasing rolling thunderstorms overhead.

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Threshold full moon total eclipse breathless brilliant stars above red canyon carved somewhere near the start.

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Bed everywhere seeds pop tendrils towards the sun, dripping musky rush of the rut, or glittering blush snow blanket dormant.

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Choose the right soundtrack.

@~^~

Notes: Walk Two Moons by Sharon Creech is the best novel ever read aloud to me in school. The saying lingered.