The frost was on the thistles
when the whistle of the freight train blew
as it rattled across the access road.
I wasn't sleeping deeply anyway
but I resisted climbing out of my bag
at least until the watery light of dawn.
The frigidaire deep freezer I'd
converted to a shelter did a halfway job
of insulating me from the November chill,
although with the door removed
it wasn't perfect. I’d built a small fire
the night before with some scraps of pallets
and somebody's discarded chair.
It had three coats of paint and childish
initials scratched through the white top coat
through it's earlier skin of green to
the bottom coat of red. It burned okay
once I got it started. The embers
finally ebbed a couple hours before sunrise
but I’d been warm enough before that.
I poked through the ashes with the spine
of a broken umbrella. A lucky day, a few coals
remained and I put the last pieces of the pallet
and the front section of last week's Wall Street Journal
on the coals and revived a nice small blaze.
The black feral kitten with white paws and chest
poked her head out of the sleeping bag and yawned.
She'd decided that it was a better place to sleep
snuggled up against my chest than under
some piece of cardboard or on the abandoned couch
I’d wrestled down here under the railroad bridge.
It was light enough now to get up and check my snares.
See if any of the wild turkeys had been unwise enough
to scratch through the remains of my squash and tomato plants.
There was nothing left now on the cusp of winter
but a few withered fruits but they still picked out the seeds.
It really was turning out to be a lucky day
-for me. A big hen was caught by her foot
in a loop of plastic twine i'd set the night before.
Kitty, we are gonna feast today!
The turkey tried to fly up when I approached,
but I grabbed her and quickly broke her neck.
Plucking was going to take awhile but my stomach
was already anticipating the succulent meal
we soon would share. The kitten toyed with the feathers
as I pulled them loose. The scent of the sugar refinery
a couple miles up the tracks drifted in on the morning breeze.
It's a sickening smell when it lingers relentlessly
but I guess i must be used to it. At least enough
to stay in this place. I heard a car gun it's engine
down where the county road ends at the tracks.
Joanie was stumbling out the door of a some SUV.
She had on her dirty white ski coat and a one and a half liter
bottle of cheap vodka dangled from her hand.
The van roared off and some local boys yelled
something out the window, and laughed as they sped away.
She gave a limp back-handed wave without turning around.
Joanie hangs out in front of the liquor store
and waits for kids too young to buy. Offers to
score for them in exchange for a bottle for herself
and whatever they want to do with her.
She's only been on the skids for a year or so
and hasn't completely lost her looks.
Not enough to discourage teenage boys, anyway.
I think she's shy of forty by a few years but she's
gonna look like sixty soon the way she's going.
She lurches into my camp and sits down on a crate
by the fire. Takes a swig from what's left in the bottle.
Want a hit? she says. No, thanks anyway.
There was a time when I’d have happily accepted,
but hard as it was getting down to this point,
it's a lot harder climbing out. Six a.m. cocktails
don't make it any easier. She closes one eye
and squints at the half-plucked turkey.
What you got there she says, izzat a turkey?
Yeah. Caught it in one my snares. We'll be eating
good today. Stick around and join us.
That sounds good, I think I’ll do that she says.
But first I need to crash out for a while.
I tell her, no problem, it'll be awhile to get this
plucked and cooked, go ahead and take a nap.
Take a while to get it fucked? you don't have to settle for that,
I'll do you. She laughs so hard she nearly falls off the crate,
catches herself, and wipes the tears out of her eyes.
Yeah joanie, that's a good one. Why don't you get
some sleep. I put your sleeping bag under that tarp
over there last night to keep it dry.
I’ll wake you up when it's time to eat.
Thanks, dude, you're a sweetheart, ya know?
you're a real… a real…. you know what i mean?
Sure joanie. you too. go on. go take a nap.
She gets up off the crate and yanks the tarp off
of her sleeping bag. Sits down heavily on it,
struggles with the zipper of her jeans
and squirms them down to her knees.
Sure you don't want a quick one?
You're so sweet to me, I wanna show you
some 'preciation. She flops back and gets her
pants down to her ankles then passes out.
I go over and take her jeans off, put her legs together
and get her zipped into her bag. She's already snoring.
Sweet dreams, joanie, I whisper, sweet dreams.
The black kitten with white chest and feet
bounces over to her and worms her way down
into the sleeping bag. Joanies moans softly.
Looks like a lucky day for all of us. It's cold
but at least it ain't raining. We got a turkey
and someone soft to snuggle with.
