boarding house ham (6)

He called the oil company office from a pay phone at the train station,

the boss told him to come in after noon and expect to work late,

so he went home to the boarding house hoping to find something to eat,

a clean shirt, a warm bath, and a few hours sleep.

The old wood-framed house had ridden out the quake

with nothing much damaged but some of Elena’s

tea cup collection and commemorative plates.

His fellow roomers stood out in front drinking coffee

and shooting the shit, they all stopped talking

when Henry pulled up, hey Henry you okay?

called out Robert, the old Basque former shepherd

now boarding house owner, when he saw the stitches 

and blood-stained shirt. Something fall on your head?

Nah, just a flying beer bottle up at Trout’s,

got it stitched at the hospital before the quake.

Well ain’t that some kind of luck.

Looks like you been runned over by a truck.

Want some coffee? Elena made a fresh pot,

might be some ham if these buzzards ain’t ate it all up.

Good. I’m hungry enough to eat the whole hog.

Elena gasped when he came in, what on earth? 

It’s nothing, just a little scratch. might leave a scar,

real dashing you know, like a movie star pirate.

A scar?  Henry you look just fine as you are.

Why Elena, I never knew you cared,

what ever will we tell Robert?

Oh shush, you know what I mean.

Yeah yeah. He said there’s some coffee? and ham?

Yes there is. Sit down at the table, I’ll fix you a plate.

I still got some bread and tomatoes if you want.

Grab a chair from the dining room and sit down here

in the kitchen. I wanna know what happened to you.

Here’s your coffee. want some sugar?

Two slices of sheepherders bread, a tomato

and some Basque style ham washed down

with a big of mug of sweet black coffee later,

he leaned back and sighed.

At least his belly was now satisfied.

Now that you’ve demolished that chow,

tell me what happened to you ?

where were you when the quake hit?

Across from the hospital, but this little scratch ain’t from that.

I see. You been out tomcatting around again?

Oh you know, just up at Trout’s trying to spend all my money

before monday morning. You know how it gets.

Yes I do. That’s why I don’t let Robert go out to those places,

he was always getting in scrapes.

I told him if he wanted to be with me,

he’d hafta stop all that foolishness.

Did he?

Mostly. after he lost a few teeth.

I’m sure he’s told you his glory stories.

So who or what hit you? some kind of fight?

I believe it was a bottle of Pabst

but it might have been Hamms.

It was brown and it smelled like beer.

There were a few old boys worse off than me,

so we went down to the hospital to get stitched.

I’d just left there when the quake hit.

That was hours ago. where you been since?

I had to give a ride to a girl who works at the hospital.

Gus Smith was givin’ her a real hard time.

That roughneck again? Good for you.

I’m sure she’s real grateful. Where does she live?

Out of town a ways.

Out of town? Whereabouts?

Cottonwood.

Cottonwood? there’s no one but colored out there.

Yeah.

So she’s a colored girl?

Yes.

Henry, I don’t want to stick my nose in your business,

but you’re looking for trouble mixing with colored girls.

I just gave her a ride. It was Smith, you know what he did.

I know he’d a done it again if I hadn’t.

I ‘spose. But you be careful  specially with you and his past.

I’ve lived in this town all my life and those men from up

in the oil fields.......

well, you don’t want to get on their bad side.

She unties her apron and hangs it beside the door.

turns round and says,

This town is not friendly to coloreds or whites who mix.

I know. But you know what?

They don’t even treat me like I’m white.

Fresno Indian. I’m pretty sick of hearing that.

You’re gonna hear worse if you fool around with that girl.

I just took her home and I’m givin’ her a ride tonight too.

There’s all kinds of rides, son. The one you’re fixin’ to ride,

could get you in more of a smashup than that jalopy you race around in.

That’s what people say about my car and I ain’t wrecked it yet.

I’m gonna take a bath and grab a few hours sleep.

Boss said we’re gonna be working late. Thanks for the breakfast.

Go on then. Just watch what you ride. This town isn’t like Frisco.

Cottonwood (5)

Henry gives the gas pedal the gun,

accelerates into the hot rising sun.

Up there on the right by that oil pump

would be fine, I’ll walk from there.

He don’t stop though, turns onto

the dusty lane running out

through the scabby alkaline flats

to clusters of thrown together

houses and shacks, where a few scraggly

cottonwoods lend their name to the place.

Which one is it, he asks, as they pass

folks eyeing his dark low slung ride.

This one she says, and he pulls into

a weedy yard with an unpainted 

board and batten, tarpaper-roofed house,

with a screen door hanging crooked,

a couple of chickens scratching for bugs,

picking at corncobs, gravel and seeds.

Thanks, Henry, you’re a good-hearted man.

I don’t know about that, I just don’t

like redneck trash bothering gals,

it hasn’t made me too many pals.

Yeah, I imagine it don’t, I appreciate

you stepping in like you did,

now I better be gettin’ inside,

Loretta, my cousin is probably frettin’.

What time does your shift start, Ruthie?

My shift at the hospital? eleven. why?

I’ll be here tonight, at quarter til then.

That’s really unnecessary, I don’t need a lift.

I think it is, there’s things you don’t know.

Listen Henry, I told you, I take care of myself.

You think this the first time I had to deal

with dirty rednecks like him?

Oh, I don’t doubt it, but prob’ly

not as nasty as Smith. He’s done time.

For what? -About what you’d expect.

Raped a girl up in Fresno. Did two years for that.

Woulda done more, but it was right after the war

and he’d just got out of the Marines.

Purple heart and a chest full of ribbons

from fighting on Guadalcanal. Big war hero.

Uh huh, so he thought he was entitled

to some free pussy, that about right?

Yeah, you got it, that’s how it went,

and she was a colored girl too.

Oh yeah? I’m surprised he did any time at all.

stuff like that, mostly don’t even get to a trial.

I’m sure I don’t have to tell you ‘bout that,

but this was too much, even for Fresno,

and Oildale and Bakersfield are much worse.

They wouldn’t touch Gus if he put you in a hearse.

I know that, so I never go up to Oildale,

it’s a sundown town, know what that is?

Yeah, I’ve seen the signs at the edge of the town.

You see? Nobody from Cottonwood even

goes there at noon, let alone after dark,

and I have no reason to go anywhere near.

That’s the thing, Ruthie, Oildale will be

coming to you. Smith will be looking.

Okay Henry, you win, just for tonight,

I’ll be here at quarter til eleven, I promise.

Alright then. Good night ....Good morning.

.....whatever this is, Ruthie Brown.

Good night is just fine, Henry Nalbandian,

feels like two different nights just ended.

Ruthie slides out of the car, the chickens

scurry out of her path. A dirty boot print

stamped on the back of her dress

where Augustus Smith left his mark.

Loretta peers out through the screen door

clutching her thin satin robe at the throat.

Where you been, girl? Who is that white boy?

What are you doin’ in his car? I been worried sick.

I’m fine. That’s Henry. He helped me out.

Helped you outta what, who is he?

I’ll tell you all about it. Right now I just want

to get cleaned up. Would you put on some water?

She turns back and waves through the door,

Henry waves back and backs out of the yard,

heads down the road to the highway.

A mockingbird flies up from the weeds, 

to the powerlines lining the blacktop.

Sings his birdsong version of the squeaks

and the clatter of the nodding donkey wells

bobbing in unsynchronized time by the street.

sunrise reveals what nature has done (4)

Another rumbling convulsion,

more falling bricks and new screams, 

dust fountains from fresh cracks in the street.

The bones in the dice pits in far away Vegas,

tumble from boxcars to snake eyes,

change the fortunes of some all night shooters,

from insomniac winners to broke red-eyed losers.

We oughta get outa here. Where can I take you, Miss Brown?

You really don’t have to, I usually walk. it’s just a little ways out of town.

Not this morning. I’m taking you all the way home.

I don’t want to be any trouble, I’ve already been enough.

From Smith? I can take care of him.

Well so can I. I can take care of myself.

She pulls a horn-handled folding knife out of the pocket of her dress.

I’m sure you can. In normal situations. Gus ain’t normal.

Well what about you? he said he’s got business with you, Mr Henry.

Not the first time, I know what to do. And don’t call me mister.

So where to? mind if I call you Ruthie? where to?

Ruthie is fine. Cottonwood. You know Cottonwood?

Yeah. You walk all the way out there?

It’s no big thing. Sometimes my cousin’s fiance gives me a ride.

He starts the flathead’s growling motor.

The radio’s orange dial lights up:

ain’t no ballads playing on station KUZZ anymore......

….reports still coming in folks, ...heavy damage

in Bakersfield and Tehachapi, officials urging

people to stay calm...Fire department says

stay out of buildings, more aftershocks likely

….call us with any information we can pass on……

Crawling through the streets they see a brand new ‘52

with the roof flattened down to the top of the doors,

a hardware store’s rafters exposed

like compound fractures jutting through skin,

pyramids of bricks piled like spilled apples.

Bungalows knocked off their foundations

sit tilted and sprawled on the ground.

People standing in front yards in their pajamas and underwear.

A wild-eyed dog bolts under a juniper hedge. 

One family has already pulled their mattresses out on the lawn,

but nobody’s sleeping.

Some men in the street pass a bottle of rye,

peer in the window as the car passes by,

get all skinny pig-eyed when they spy Ruthie Brown.

She slumps down in the seat.

Words surely will pass from their snickering mouths

through houses and churches, from bar rooms to the street,

and nothing good will come of it.

She’s sure of it.

California Avenue goes due east,

past the outskirts of town to Cottonwood Road,

where the colored live.

the quake (3)

Fluorescent tubes cast their weary light

on the emergency room’s green sick walls.

The coughs and whispers faded to snores,

now that the predawn excitement had withdrawn.

A gray-haired nurse called, Nalbandian?

Henry waved a hand, that’s me.

Well c’mon, get over here,

let’s have a look at you, young man.

Her penlight probed his eyes,

look left, look right, follow my fingers,

you seem alright. Six stitches

and a dab of mercurochrome

‘s all we need to fix you up tonight.

At four thirty seven in the morning,

it was seventy-five degrees, cool for a mid-July night .

The cool would be gone in a few hours though,

when the mercury climbed past a hundred again.

Henry shook out a crooked Lucky Strike from a dented pack,

lit it up with a Zippo with a dragon engraved on the front,

and Inchon, Korea, 1951 on the back. 

They always tasted best in cool morning air.

A flock of cowbirds chorusing in a modesto ash,

went quiet as he crossed the empty street

and leaned against the door of his

fenderless tracknose ‘34 coupe.

Snuffed the butt, climbed in, turned the key.

The radio was playing a Bakersfield hit:

Bud Hobbs & his Trail Herders singing

candy kisses wrapped in paper…

  4:52 a.m. July 21, 1952.  Magnitude 7.3

With a jolt and a rumble, the Ford bucks like a bronco,

was he rear-ended by some phantom truck?

nothing there in the rear view mirror, so what the fuck?

The street ripples like a swarm of rats fighting under a blanket.

Falling bricks bounce off the pavement and the world roars

like a wagonload of taters on a wooden bridge.

A black exposion of cowbirds streams from the ash trees,

the needle on Bud Hobbs sad ballad jumps and skips

candy kisses, candy kisses, kisses, kisses,

mean more, mean more, to you , to you , than me

The bandaged and damaged, patients and staff,

gowned or in greens, limping or running,

pour down the stairs of the hospital,

spill out the doors into the street,

looking skyward where the stars

have yet to dim and a sliver of moon

still hangs in the west,

the rational ones doing their best

to calm and to comfort the rest.

Is this heaven’s revenge?

A disheveled doctor, with a stethoscope

dangling forgotten in his hand,

stares at one of his patients hustling out the door,

the baker’s cardiac wife gripping the arms

of a wheelchair as her flour-dusted husband

gives her a ride down the cracked stairs.

Broken bricks and window glass

dot the street and the grass,

ghostly shards glittering in the settling dust.

Ruthie Brown, still clutching her mop,

doesn’t see Augustus Smith

sneaking up ten paces behind her,

a short length of pipe in his hand.

Hey miss! look out behind you! run! get in the car!

She splashes through a puddle flooding the street,

jumps in through the open driver’s side door,

slides over the worn leather to the passenger side.

Henry grabs his old bulletless six shooter

stashed under the seat, points it at Gus.

Smith skids to a stop in the street.

Okay shithead, you win this morning.

but this ain’t the end of our bizness,

cuz I’m gonna be lookin’ for you.

that little jungle bitch too.

better fuck her while you got the chance,

‘fore I put this lil pal of mine up her snatch.

I’ll keep that in mind, I got a pal o’ my own.

try anything and I’ll shoot your dick off.

Gus steps back, holds the pipe in front of his crotch

rubbing it like an erection.

Yer gonna need it chief. When I’m done with her,

I’m gonna use this to piss on your grave.

Turns his back to show he ain’t scar’t,

joins the rest of his crew watching the scene

from the hospital lawn.

Let’s get out of here, miss.......

what’s your name anyway?

Ruthie. Ruthie Brown.

Are you really named Bandyman?

No. I’m Henry. Henry Nalbandian.

I’m real pleased to meet you, Mr Henry.

Likewise I’m sure, Miss Brown.

the wall begins to crack (2)

Let her go, Smith, she’s just trying to do her job.

Wha’d you say, Bandyman?

Keep yer fuckin’ nose out of this.

You heard me, Gus, let her go.

Ruthie got real still as Gus snaked his hand

out of her drawers, but kept his other

tight around her waist.

Brought the molesting paw

up to his nose and sniffed.

wiped it on her skirt,

smeared a greasy signature

with his oilfield grime

on the pale blue cotton.

You want some of this, Bandyman? 

Smells like nigger ass,

I think she farted on me.

Henry got up slowly,

walked across the room.

Took the mop from Ruthie,

stood just out of Gus’s reach.

Stuck the handle in his chest.

I’m not asking, Smith.

Well, well, well,

I think ole four-eyes

Bandyman’s in love.

Why ain’t I surprised?

Gus sniffed his hand again

licked his finger, blew a kiss.

Shoved her into Henry

with his boot.

Go ahead ‘an take her.

Why’nt you take her out

to your piece of shit jalopy

and stick that mop up her ass.

Then you two shit birds

can have a shit party.

Henry staggered back

as Ruthie fell against him,

she’s just a little thing,

don’t quite reach his chin.

With a sheltering arm

light on her shoulders,

he led her out

of the emergency room.

They heard the hawk and splat,

when Gus spit on the floor

behind their backs.

You ok, miss?

Maybe you should go clean up

somewhere else for a while,

these boys are used to livin’

with a lot worse than

what’s on the floor here.

I’m sure this mess can wait a spell.

Ruthie quietly said, thanks.

Looked up from the floor to his face.

To see if he’s the other kind,

the ones with all their sweet talkin’,

thinking colored girls are easy.

He’s got nice brown eyes,

like a puppy she once had.

Maybe he’s okay, but even

puppies bite sometimes.

He handed her the mop.

She stood it up in the pail,

rolled it through the swinging doors

that didn’t block out the catcalls,

and whistles, the barking laughter.

Hey lover boy, big hero, got yourself a new gal?

Gonna get yourself some dark meat?

Better give’r plenty of gravy

before you give’r the corn.

an’ don’ forget to give the little monkey

your banana for dessert.

It was just like back in Oklahoma,

nothing ever seemed to change.

She’d come out here with Daddy and Mama,

Just like these men had.

Hoping for a job, a chance for something better.

No jobs for Daddy in the oilfields though.

They said they didn’t hire colored,

he should stick to pickin’ cotton.

Just like back in Oklahoma.

They had a little shack up in Teviston,

with outdoor water, and a beat up old stove.

So when her cousin Loretta

told her about this cleaning job

at the hospital and place to stay with her,

she jumped right on it.

MIght just be the stepping stone she wanted.

Anything was better than chopping cotton up in Teviston.

sometimes it's a cat's world, sometimes it's not

that black cat slinks across the street,

flows under the pontiac like spilled ink.

the sloppy woman from around the corner

in the 49ers t-shirt with last night's party

stains all down her chest, yells at her son

-just shut the fuck up and get in the car.

the cat scoots from the beater 4-door

to the juniper hedge beside the driveway,

turns around and glares a yellow death curse

at the noisy slob scaring away the sparrows

she was stalking. the sparrows perch

on the rain gutters of building 1420

and lob their tiny shit bombs into

the foul-mouthed mother's dirty hair.

she doesn't even notice but her son does

and he tries to hide a smirk behind his hand.

her party partner from the night before

shouts from the balcony, where you going,

get me some beer and a pack of newports

while you're out. she turns and hollers back

i only have ten bucks and you already

owe me twenty, you cheapass fuck.

the cat crouches under the junipers and

i could swear she's wearing a cheshire smile.

truth or consequences

he can smell where she's been today,

it's in her hair. underneath the french

conditioner, the funk of his hot spew.

she said she'd rock climbed devil's knob.

he's pretty sure that she had polished it too.

now she's riding tears and violins,

strolling the imaginary halls of her soap

opera palaces, waiting for her mountain

prince to rescue her from boredomville.

another evening in the living room which

might as well be two grottos side by side,

staring at the wedding portrait on the wall.

he just wishes he was a catfish

swimming up the muddy Rio Grande

past El Paso where there ain't no dams.

til you get to Truth or Consequences.