1. " a women in her bathrobe walking
the dog - by god there's still a little bit of america
left. now i can die happy. next time wear curlers" said
to me by a nice old irish guy wearing lots of green who
had spent the night in stern grove while i was walking
the dog the friday morning after thanksgiving post moving
the car for street cleaning.
2. while waiting for the bathroom
at a taqueria before my writing group, a man with a muddy
smile leaves the women’s
room. I walk into the room and bump the door against a
young woman - maybe 20 hiding behind the door - she is
pale with red cheeks and short black hair. her smile is
muddy too - her eyes are sharp focused scared "sorry
sorry sorry" she says. I am checking the voicemail
on my cell phone. I nod at her also apologizing and walk
back out - waiting for her to be done. i assume she is
shooting up. something about how she was scrubbing her
arms. the small sores she has that are accented by her
tank top and the sight of so much bare skin in the winter.
when she leaves, she is still all apologies. i like her
rough and tumble black leather belt. i go into the bathroom
and see water splashed around, signs that she was washing
herself. there is a sad pink condom sitting on top of the
trash like a flower. i hope that security doesn't harass
her when she leaves.
3. the drugs wore off and i was itching
in my seat. nothing was comfortable. i chewed my nails
bloody to distract from
the pain that i couldn't control. change it. make it
mine. the pain on the top and end of my fingers. i make
it. it's
mine. when i take deep breaths the bones in my back pop
- a small explosion of breath in skin in muscle releasing.
4.
Two Every Eight Hours
A trade with no tools / I am laying
heat on these bones / While they sweat / Like bloated
floodwater paperbacks
/ Words sliding off my skin / Squeezed out by soft tissue
/ And distended joints / Bones and muscles breaking /
Harder than a heart knows how
I am a writer betrayed / By arms
that shake too much / To hold a pencil / By pain that
transcribes daggers on
my back / Spine collapsing under the weight / Of the
nail bed resting on my shoulder / 1600mg of Motrin / And
too
much whiskey later / My face is a stone mask / I try
to work.
