a cartoon mouse-shaped purse

the chimney of the smelter

at the edge of town never ceased

to send a plume of vapor

high above the doll shop.

that tuesday, a blue sky day

the plume stood like a quill

in the hand of god. jack and jill

lolled on the weather beaten

fake leopard skin couch that sat

on the porch in front of the shop

watching the contrails crisscross

the sky behind the smelter.

jill kept a smith & wesson in

a cartoon mouse-shaped purse.

after all, she liked to say, be cute

but be prepared to shoot when

every day begins to look like aleppo.

bet i could hit that walnut

right off the tree, she smirked.

i reckon you could, said jack

be a waste of a perfectly good nut.

i sugared a pound of pralines

yesterday, i'll bring out a dish?

and looks like you could use

a refresh on your ice tea.

yeah thanks, that sounds delish.

while you're at it, did you

say that you got some new stuff?

vintage japanese, pokemon?

indeed i do, darlin' something

really special, something really jill.

how about a yellow pikachu cap

with ears, or a pikachu brassiere?

would that fit into your whole

tokyo sex kitten gunslinger theme?

or have you grown weary of that meme?

i've got cabbage patch and barbie too.

i don't think so, jack. cabbage patch

would be too daisy mae and barbie

style on my bod? i'm not london mod.

how 'bout hello kitty or strawberry shortcake?

some kind of my little pony things

would go really nicely with my hair.

uh huh. that's quite the shade of pink.

i'll show you what i've got, but how about

you put that gun away, i don't need

another visit from the sheriff, even though

you think that certain deputy is hot.

if you  wanna play annie oakley,

i've got the accessories, but please

why don't you take it somewhere else.

they lean back on the couch and watch

the fighter jets dog fight overhead

munching jack's pralines and sipping tea.

the road to exeter

they hadn't been identified in reno

so they hit portland for a while. vancouver.

then down the five to california, the olive

and walnut towns baking in the sun

to the lemon groves stretched out like

a lumpy carpet below the bouldered hills.

the dusty ford granada lurched slowly

into the shadows under the trees and died.

jasmine woke up from her two hundred

mile nap confused. where are we,

why is it so dark? daryl says it's nothing,

just the god damned car is dead. fuck.

we're only a couple miles from exeter,

and this piece of shit had to up and die.

c'mon, we can walk the rest of the way.

get your stuff outta the trunk. let's go.

just stay under the trees. we can be there

before anybody finds the car.

dodge city

plywood reindeer fly up the side

of the body shop around the corner

from gina's nails and hair salon.

she ain't there today although her old

dodge polara's parked out front,

a sign taped in the back window says,

$1500 or best offer.

she had glued a toy horse to the hood,

a favorite saved from her girlhood dreams.

the colors bleached out years ago, about

the time that mack went off to corcoran.

doesn't seem like he is ever coming back.

he got another ten tacked on for slicing up

some guy over a stolen pack of camels.

she had stopped answering his calls.

no matter how much his mother whined

about his everlasting devotion,

it was time to dump the dodge.

but maybe she could pry the horse off,

little janie might still want it, she used

to point her finger at it whenever the three

of them drove up to the river for a swim.

she was two months behind on the rent

for the shop, so if she could sell the dodge,

they could catch a bus to redding.

her sister susie had room. it'd be enough

for a couple months, anyway. maybe get a job

at the bar where susie worked, the tips had to be

an improvement on the measly money

she was making at the shop. and susie said

the regulars weren't too bad after you let them know

where to keep their hands. gina rummaged

in the kitchen drawer for a screwdriver.

time get that faded palomino off the hood.

the archeology of memory

sifting the sands

for old coins

and house keys

mushroom clouds

and marshall dillon

phantom verandas,

stairways leading

to homestead houses

lost to fires and termites.

the tree that had to be

right here where we're

standing but somehow isn't.

the smooth face

of that girl whose

name escapes me

it was there just

a moment ago

before it fled

and hid somewhere

in the maze of neurons

teasing, peekaboo

i see you,

now you see me

now you don't

it started with a 'd'

i think, or was that a 'b'?

i can see her standing there,

fiddling with her hair

in that endearing way

tucking it behind her ear

and it always smelt

of coconut shampoo.

why is she,

'b' or 'd' or was it 'p'?

standing on that stairway,

lost, displaced

by what gilligan said

to the skipper or

the bore and stroke

of a '67 ferrari gtb?

that oak atop

chickenfoot road

hasn't changed

these fifty years,

it's laughing, foolish man

lost your memory

along with your

graying hair.

Y street

I was walking down Z street

trying to get to Y. so I asked

this guy who was busy

attaching tow away signs

to street lamp poles

for directions.

Y and Z don't intersect

he said. the only way

to get to Y from here

is Main street.

what are you looking for

anyway, Main has

everything and there's

nothing there on Y.

precisely, I said. it looks

to me like Y and Z

converge out there

on the horizon.

are you joking?

that's just an illusion

they never meet.

the only way to get

to Y from here

is take a right on Main.

well I heard there was

another way if you cut over

on Third? You know anything

about that?

sorry, pal, no way.

whoever told you that is nuts

there ain't no Third. take my

advice and hang a right on Main.

thanks anyway,

I guess I'll just keep on

walking out Z, just in case

it meets up with Y

out there on the horizon

or maybe I'll find Third. have

you ever been out that way?

nope. got everything

I need on Main. excuse me

now, I gotta put up these signs.

everybody loves a parade

they brought their lawn chairs

to the parade, staked out

a prime corner to watch

the baton twirlers, marching bands

posses on horseback, clowns

and vintage cars, floats and

firetrucks draped in bunting.

tyler was getting bored.

it had to be way more

than a million degrees

out in the unshaded sun 

and who cares about

a bunch of porky old guys

riding horses. and the horses

just poop right in the street.

he fiddled with the bottle caps

and pebbles in the gutter,

begged his mom to buy him

a snow cone from that lady

towing a red wagon

with a cooler on it

coming up the street.

and he didn't want a balloon.

those are for babies.

mom's boyfriend, jake

was teasing him, said his gi joe

action figure was a doll.

dolls are for girls and sissies.

jake looked really stupid,

showing off in his muscle shirt

and floppy wide-brimmed leather hat.

and the way that mom was hanging

on to him, always petting his arm

was so embarrassing. god.

he didn't like the way jake

kept slipping his hand

up under mom's cut-offs either,

or touching her bare back

with his cold beer can

making her jump and squeal,

sock him in the arm and then

she'd giggle and rub her body

up against him. and then jake

would look at him and wink.

didn't she know how gross it was?

and out in front of everybody.

it was so embarrassing.

why couldn't they just hurry up

and go to the carnival

so he could at least

go on the rides. and eat

hot dogs and he wouldn't have

to watch mom and jake

do all their disgusting stuff.

midnight at the pastime bar

bud has his eye on gladys.

she kills off the last of her 

seven and seven and

shakes out a tareyton.

her lighter is all spark

and no flame.

bud sidles down the bar,

flips out his zippo.

gladys looks him up and down.

obviously a truck driver,

probably decent looking

a couple decades back,

not bad for midnight

at the pastime though.

bud now has a closer look

at gladys. her bouffant

is a little disheveled

and she's got lipstick

on her teeth. has a certain

feline air about her though

and he likes what he can

see in a gap where a button

has come loose on her blouse.

…..besides

there's no one else out here

in the tumbleweed and

sagebrush republic.

bud nods at the bartender

points to their empty glasses.

gladys squints at him, takes

a deep drag on her tareyton

and decides he'll do.

bud is already imagining

getting creative with gladys

in the sleeper of his semi.

invites her to check out his rig.

she considers and counters

with the suggestion that her trailer 

is a lot warmer, and he won't

find any detours or roads

closed for repairs. 

M-16

the little girl in a long

pink gingham dress,

aims a plastic M-16

at her brother in his

plaid bell bottoms

and rayban shades.

he's climbed half way

up the trunk of a palm tree

in the park behind

the bank of america.

she says, bang,

gotcha, you're dead.

behind the curtain

she sat on the curb outside

the auto diagnostic center

her face hidden behind

the curtain of her hair.

he left her there.

drove off without a word.

and her purse, sitting on the floor

behind her seat, left with him.

air show

airman smith

holds his daughter inez

balanced on his hip.

his wife, dorothea,

leans to stare

at the angry painted face

of the vintage warbird

crouched on the runway.

the balance

he left the bank in agony.

the lunch time crowd,

eating fruit salad or yogurt,

sipping lattes in the mini park

didn't notice when he fell down

at the corner. the stroke his doctor

had been warning of, had finally arrived.

the men who idled daily in the shade

underneath the marquee of the dead

movie theater across the street

levered themselves upright

with their canes and shouted

at the office workers munching

in the park. hey! stop updating

your status and call an ambulance.

so they did. one called 911.

another rushed to the man

and attempted CPR.

a third one removed the passbook

he was clutching tightly in his hand

and opened it to see a balance

of fifty nine dollars and thirteen cents.

somewhere over the rainbow

rainbow dances with gabriel, her old man.

shirtless, barefoot, free in her bib overalls.

raising a small storm of dust around their feet

as they stomp in the packed red dirt of the old

racetrack in the pines where the hot rods

had roared a hundred years before.

gabe grins and grabs her hands.

rainbow slips them loose, snatchs his suspenders

and lets them slap back on his bare chest.

-ouch you little pixie, why are you so frisky?

-because it's such a beautiful night.

and i traded a dozen jars of pickled okra

to wizard for some cedar shingles.

why are you so full of beans and whiskey?

- oh i don't know, could be the way your stuff

moves around in those overalls, girl.

rainbow snaps his suspenders again.

-you sure ain't no angel tonight, gabriel!

i think i see some hooves and horns.

the boogie band slides into their rendition

of sugar magnolia and gabe lets loose a holler.

they dance with such a frenzy,

that nixon, their australian sheep dog

barks at gaia, their golden mutt.

the dogs romp round rain and gabriel's feet.

gaia nips at the tie-dyed neckerchief

around nixon's throat, pulls it loose,

resulting in a canine tug of war.

the band picks up the tempo and rainbow twirls,

her long dreadlocks streaming out behind her,

the very image of her great grandmother

when jerry and the guys were riffing a century before.

stepping out

the men were standing

in the aisle of the bus

hanging from the straps

talking about IUDs and AK47s,

then the plump smiling woman

said to one of them,

do you have two brothers, twins?

and he said yeah,

did you go to washington?

she did. and they recalled

a favorite pizza parlor

and caught up on the people

they had known who died.

he asked her if she stepped out.

no, not really, she said,

i go to church. how's your mother?

on the lawn

on a bright spring sunday,

a man in a mint ice cream

colored suit stood on the lawn

beside the cracked asphalt

basketball half court.

eight people in t-shirts, jeans

and running shoes lined up

against the cyclone fence

listened to him speak and

watched his hands entreat

the clouds to pay attention.

the lamb knows what

the wolf don't. what the wolf

can't ever see. only love

can save you. without love

you have no more chance

of salvation, than tuna

escaping from the can.