It was the third time we had hung out
as friends.
After trying to go to the new monster bar
and get Friday the 13th tattoos
there were lines at both
so we said **** it
and got some sushi.
I hadn't been out with anyone
like that
laughing
and smiling across the table
wanting to hear anything she had to say
really knowing the girl
being sweet on the gal
and wanting her bad.
When we left the small sushi bar
our insides were warm with sake
our heads swimming
as we walked to her car
and a dust storm came down on us
blowing her hair all around
and getting dirt in my pomade covered hair.
She drove us back to my trailer
and we went inside
away from the swirling brown wind.
She sat on the couch
and I sat in a chair across from her.
We talked for an hour
hour and a half
I was waiting for that good moment
that little perfect one
when I could make that move.
So we kept talking
with her legs crossed
the big tattoo on her thigh
taking all my attention.
I was never a leg man
until that night.
That classic figure of a woman
defined legs crossed like that
kicking the heel just so, like ole' Hank said.
There's a magic to it.
I was practically in a trance
staring at those legs of hers.
I just couldn't contain myself anymore
and I didn't even think about it
just went for it.
I stood up and spit my gum out
just sent it sailing across the room
before leaning down
and kissing her.
She pulled back at first
after our lips kissed one full time.
"Oh. Okay, then."
She said with a giddy smile.
After talking to her for weeks
and getting teased by my co-workers
for being in the Friend Zone
the moment had finally arrived.
The one I'd been dreaming of
laying in my trailer
as the train passed at 12:37
every night
blowing it's whistle
and I thought about how it would feel.
Her body pressed against mine
feeling her body heat
tasting her lips
feeling her body tense up
and her hand on the back of my head.
It was better than I had imagined.
She climbed on top of me
wrapping her legs around me tight
kissing each other like
we were in a movie no one else would see.
When we made it for the first time
later that night
the iPod was on shuffle
and right at the moment
when we were about to make it
'Hallelujah' the Leonard Cohen version
came on.
We both looked at each other
and smiled.
"I can't believe this song is on right now."
"Me either."
"Come here." She said, wrapping her arms around my neck
and pulling me in.
Then
from the dirt brown clouds above us
the heavens opened up
and the sky rained down
tip tapping
on the metal roof of the single-wide trailer
as we pushed on.
Away from the earth
and into the company of the angels.

My Mom needed something from the store
So I told her I’d walk up there for her and get it.
We were barely getting by
The two of us.
She was living on a disability check
And I was in between jobs
Again
So these little walks to the store were all I had.
I got her some Epsom salts and was walking back
Had just walked past the hardware store
When a small, sleek, black, BMW pulled up next to me.
To my surprise it was a chick
A big titted redhead with pink sunglasses.
There was something in her eyes
When she peeked below the sunglasses
I saw something in them
that frightened me
A voice inside was screaming at me
Just keep walking
Just keep walking
But like a fool
I ignored it
And bent over the passenger seat
In the convertible that smelled new.
“How big is your ****?”
The lady asked
Her chest just heaving and jiggling
With every breath she took
And every word she spoke.
“What?”
“I said….how big is your ****?”
“Ha ha!”
I took a look around
Expecting to see a hidden camera
Or a film crew in a van across the street.
There was no one
No witnesses.
I leaned back down
“7 inches? Maybe 8? I don’t know lady, I haven’t measured my **** since the 11th grade!”
The redhead took off the sunglasses completely and looked me up and down
Those bright green eyes scanning me
From my worn out Converse to my greasy pompadour on my head.
It seemed like an eternity
I got uncomfortable.
Just standing there
Squirming
While the redheaded fox
Kept inspecting me.
“Okay. Get in. Hurry up.”
I wasn’t even thinking
Just reacting to it all.
I’d always dreamed of this
When I was walking down that
Same old ******* street
The only street that I ever saw
Dreaming of
A beautiful woman in a sports car.
And now here she was.
Here we were
Driving down the street
The breeze blowing in our hair
She made an immediate right turn
Onto a suburban side street.
She parked in front of a house that was up for sale.
Again she took off the sunglasses.
“Let me see it.”
She said, staring at my crotch.
“Whoa, whoa, lady. What’s this all about?”
“My husband and I…..we have certain…..tastes. Things we like, things we enjoy. He’s an older guy, so he likes to watch young guys **** me. I mean, just really give it to me good, make me scream. And of course after your services have been….rendered….you’ll be paid two-thousand dollars. Now do you think you can do that?”
“Uh……I—I think so.”
“Well, I need you to know so. And if you were bullshitting me, if that **** isn’t at least 7 inches, you can get out of the car right ******* now.”
“No it is, it is.”
“Well...”
“Well...you gotta start my engine first—“
Before I could finish my cheesy line
She was in the passenger seat
Climbing on top of me.
“Rip it open” She said looking down.
I did as I was told
And ripped the front of her blouse open
The buttons flying in all directions
Bouncing off the windows and rolling on the dashboard.
Her two, round, fake, **** sprang out of the top
Hitting me in the face
As she rubbed them up and down
And all around.
She kissed me sloppily
And then started in with that biting *******.
She met my lip so hard
It drew blood
acting purely on reflex
I grabbed her by the arms very hard
And pulled her back from me
Staring at her with those crazy, intense, eyes
That I sometimes got when startled.
“Oh…..” She said looking down, at the ******* in my Levi’s.
“Alright. You wanna see the house?” She asked.
I let go of her arms and she rolled off of me,
hopping into the driver’s seat and starting the car up.

She drove all the way to the edge of the city
Where the Red Mountains in the east
Meets the long winding road out of town
And into the desert.
It was a large ranch style mansion
Decorated with cowboy themed ****.
The redhead parked the sports car in
A massive garage
Filled with dozen of rare and expensive automobiles .
She told me to leave my plastic grocery bag of Epsom salts
In the car
She said I could get it later, when we were done.
I followed her to an elevator at the back of the garage.
We took it all the way down to the very bottom.
Stepping out of the elevator
I found myself in a large expansive grey room.
The floors were concrete
But they were shiny and slick
Reminded me of the floor in the meat department
At the job I had just lost.
The room had a few beds in it
Some custom built sets were erected all over the room
An office, a jail cell, a medieval dungeon, a medical examination room,
There were a lot these little sets built all over
In the back of the room
The corners
Were pitch black and covered in darkness.
I wondered what they had over there.
“So what do we do?” I asked, fidgeting in my pants
thumbing my switchblade stiletto in my right front pocket.
“We have to wait for my husband to come down. I just texted him.”
“Oh okay.”
“You should take your clothes off and put this on.”
The redhead said, taking a hospital gown from a hanger
Next to the medical examination set.
“….put that on and I’m gonna go get into character.”
She said, walking behind a white privacy screen
The old kind, like they used to have in doctor’s offices.
I undressed myself and got into the hospital gown.
I can’t say what it was exactly
But I still had that real nervous feeling
I couldn’t ignore it
So for some reason
I hid my switchblade on me.
Put it in the waistband of my underwear.
And that made me feel a little bit safer
This whole thing was beyond belief
I was never this lucky
Something was rotten in Denmark
I could feel it in my bones.
But there was no backing out now
I was riding this all the way
No choice.
I took a seat on the medical examination table
The thin paper crunching loudly beneath my ***
They had it down to the finest detail.
Even the little slots with the Highlights magazines.
I watched the black & white clock on the wall
And it took them 28 minutes to finally come out
The two of them together.
The tall, beautiful, redhead and the rich old man.
But they matched in an odd way
His face was nearly the same color as her hair.
A red faced, big nosed, drinker,
I’ve seen that face a thousand times
Ain’t no mistakin’ it.
He had white hair all spiked up
Like how young people have it
And he wore nothing but gold
All over himself.
Gold necklace, full fists of rings, bracelets,
I couldn’t ******* believe it
I tried my best not to laugh
I was snorting to myself
The ******* had a Mercedes medallion around his neck
Like Flavor Flav or something, it was that flamboyant.
But the guy was like 70 years old
None of it made any ******* sense.
The florescent lighting above
it did this thing where
his eyes were so sunken in
that it created these two black shadows
where his eyes should’ve been
just pitch black
endlessly hollow and empty
with a red face.
Satan himself, covered in gold and diamonds.

“What’s up?” He said, extending his well tanned, leathery claw.
“Hey.”
“Alright, so let’s not waste any time. Let’s get down to business? Huh?”
“Yeah, sure.” I said.
“**** yeah! Let’s ****! You wanna **** him baby?”
”Why do you think I got him? Hell, I almost ****** him on the way home.”
“Did you now?” He said, looking over at me with this look
I couldn’t tell if it was pleasure or rage.
“Alright, alright then.”
The chick started to walk up the three little steps
Of the examination table
Her feet were pale as snow and her toes
Shiny and red like a the paint job on a brand new Cadillac in 1956
I remember that.
She climbed on top of me
Started kissing me and
Rubbing my ****
Under the examination gown.
From the corner of my eye
I saw the husband moving over to the camera
Which was setup a few feet away
Looked to be hi-def ****.
She bit my lip again
Really ******* hard
Pulled a big chunk of skin off
“*******!” I yelled.
“What?” The husband shouted back.
“He hates it when I bite him!” The redhead shouted with a smile
blood on her lips, from mine.
“Well, don’t take any **** son! If she does that again, you just give her a good smack!”
“What?”
“Yeah, don’t be timid boy! This ain’t ******’ Sunday school! We’re ******’, here!”
She did it again
And I wasn’t even thinking of what that old coot was yelling about
I just hit her on principle.
A good open handed smack across the cheek.
“There ya ******’ go! That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”
The old man threw his hands in the air
And started doing this little dance it was the weirdest ****
I had ever seen.
The redhead grabbed my face with her hands
Taking my eyes off the old man
Who was now singing some song
And shuffling around the floor.
She looked right into my eyes
Those mint colored eyes
She whispered to me
But I read her lips
“I’m sorry.”
And she pulled me in and kissed me
Put my hands to her *******
And proceeded to kiss me
Like a long lost love
Not some guy off the street.
And that’s the last thing I remember.
Besides the ***** of the needle in my neck.
Just her red hair hanging in my face
The florescent light shining through.
When I came to
I was standing upright
But I was strapped to a table
My arms
My legs
My head
Every part of me strapped down
Tight.
I wasn’t going anywhere
This was that bad feeling I got when she looked at me.
This was where it ended. Right now.
They were both standing there
Staring at me
Smiling with drinks in their hands
The cameras rolling
They had multiple cameras setup
Some 80’s techno playing from an iPod dock.
“What? What are you gonna do?” I slurred, it was hard to talk.
“I know, I’m sorry. Okay, look. We both agree that you probably are owed an explanation, I mean….these being your last moments and all…”
The redhead interrupted, looking at me, like she had before
There was love in her eyes
“Honey…remember what I said? About how there are things that we like and things that we enjoy? I’m sorry, but this is what we like.”
“*****?” I managed to choke out,
just the sound of the words chilled my ******* blood.
“Yeah. Hey…son, let me tell ya…we’re actually saving you a whole lot of heartache and disappointment. You weren’t gonna go anywhere, you weren’t going to accomplish anything. You’d work the same **** jobs, bouncing from one to the other, until you finally died of either ***** or drugs.”
“It’s for the best, sweetie.” The redhead said.
And I’d love to tell you that
They left the room for a few minutes
And I was able to free my hand
Taking the switchblade
From my underwear
Cutting myself free
Killing them both
And cleaning out their safe’s cash and diamonds.
But this was no movie.
Well not the kind with a happy ending anyway.
That’s when she walked over to the table
And grabbed the knife.
The song on the iPod changed
And I instantly recognized it.
It was the song.
I never could explain why
But as a boy
This song would come on the radio
This 80’s electro song
And it always scared the **** out of me
Turned my stomach
I never knew why
But now it all made sense.
That song would be the last thing I ever heard.
With the cameras rolling
The redhead gave me one more kiss.
I closed my eyes and pretended.
I pretended that she was a girl that loved me
That she was kissing me goodnight
Sending me off with a smile.
I just kept my eyes closed
Squeezing them tight
And I didn’t even feel the knife
When she slit my throat right there
In that slick, shiny, grey basement.
It didn’t hurt
I didn’t feel any pain.
Just warmth.
The blood flowing down the front of my neck and chest
pure warmth sliding down me
And I started to get light headed
Everything getting dark
Very quickly.
I could hear my heartbeat
In sync with a high-pitched ringing in my ears.
The last thing I saw
Was the redhead standing there
Luckily the husband had his head behind the camera
So I didn’t have his scary face as the last thing I ever saw.
No
It was the redhead
And those mint green eyes.
They never found my body.
The couple put me through a wood chipper
And fed my scraps to their dogs
After slicing off my biceps for dinner that night.
They went on doing this for years
Picking up guys and girls from the streets
who were down on their luck
And wouldn’t be high profile missing persons.
They acquired hundreds of DVD’s
Selling these ***** films
To their elite and powerful
Friends in high places.
But they justified it all.
Surely I wouldn’t be missed.
I didn’t have a mother
Like they had a mother
I didn’t laugh and love
Like they did
I was expendable
Disposable
Use once and discard.
The rich eating the poor
Blood meal for their insatiable & gruesome appetites.
It’s okay though.
I’m not mad or anything now.
It’s just blackness
A dreamless sleep
I don’t even know how I’m telling you this
But the worst part
The thing I still think about the most
Is my mother.
And what she must of thought
When her only son
Went to the store for her
Epsom salts
And just never came back.

“Are you sure about this? It seems kinda ******’ weird Mike…”
“No man, she’s totally cool. She likes it. I do this, at least, once a week.”
Bobby was hesitant, but Mike insisted he try it out. There had been a big fire in one of the apartment buildings a few weeks ago, the only part left untouched was a storage room under the stairs. She lived in there, he said.
“Usually, you gotta call her on the prepay first…like before you go over. But, for me…see I’m a regular, so she just gave me a key.”
“What so you just go inside?”
“Yeah, dude. Like I said, she likes it. Most of the time she’s all doped up and like, passed out. But like, as long as, like, I show her the money…she just like, tells me to stick it in. She likes it, says it helps wake her up and ****. Really gets her going.”
Mike was breathing hard, as he talked. They were getting close to the burned out building.
“I don’t know man, this seems ******. ******* a ******-******, that lives under some stairs, in a burned out building? I mean, what the **** man? Let’s just go home and **** our wives.”
Mike stopped walking and stood, staring at Bobby, in disbelief.
Slowly he spoke.
“That is...the stupidest thing...I have ever heard you say.”
“How? This is-“
“This…is a ******* adventure *******! A break from the day-to-day, a break from the norm, man. A taste of strange. Now c’mon already! We’re almost there”
They slowly started walking again.
“Well…do other guys in the complex do it?” Bobby asked, kicking a rock.
“Of course man! She’s got like six regulars a week. She’s got that and like, all the guys that just try her once for the hell of it. She does group deals too. The girl like, ****** a bunch of the high school boys before, she told me about that. The state champion on the wrestling team even gave it to her.”
It was amazing how the fire had blackened nearly every inch of the place. But that door beneath the stairs, was still faded blue & white. They walked up to the little door.
“Alright, now…do you wanna go first or second?” Mike asked, fumbling his keys into the door.
“I don’t know. We’ll see man.” Bobby didn’t know if he was really gonna do it.
Opening the door, they found her asleep in a small recliner, too small, it looked like it was made for a child. All miniature and ****. Bobby thought she was gonna look like the Crypt Keeper in a tube top and heels. But to his surprise, she didn’t look half bad, he thought. A real pretty little redhead, in flannel pajama pants, with painted black toenails and a Ramones t-shirt.
“What’s her name?” Bobby asked, nervously thumbing his Levi’s pocket.
“I dunno. Everyone just calls her ‘Easy’.
Mike shook her, trying to wake her up. It kinda worked. She opened her eyes a centimeter, nodded, and mumbled,
“….go ahead baby….zzzzzz...”
“Alright, buddy...I....am gonna go first.” Mike said, stripping down.
Bobby leaned against the wall, between that and the arms of the mini recliner.
Three Dole banana boxes were stacked in the corner. Lubes, condoms, and punched out cigarette butts, covered the top box. With his **** all shiny and lubed up, Mike put it in and got to it. It didn’t take long, two minutes into it and he blew his load. She didn’t move an inch.
“And don’t say anything man! I usually go a lot longer.”
“Hey, I wasn’t gonna-“
“It’s been a week since I ******, so just shut up.”
.She twitched and snored. Track marks on the tops of her feets. Mike reached down and spread apart her ***** lips, looking up and smiling at Bobby.
“Well? Come on dude...slip it in.”
Bobby unzipped his pants and pulled them down to his ankles.
Somehow, his **** was hard. He tore open a ribbed ******, from the pile of them, on the stacked Dole boxes. Bobby slid the ****** down his shaft. The room stunk like a can of expired tuna. Mike was still holding open her ***** lips.
“Mike. Move your hands. Come on, I got it man…”
He did like he was asked and stepped to the side. Stroking himself and grinning big. Bobby slid it in with ease, and began pumping away. Easy moaned with pleasure, at last waking up, her eyes finally open, and looking at who was ******* her.
“Give it to me, Daddy. Give it. **** me good.”
When Bobby finally came, five minutes later, Easy was wide awake. Bobby rolled the ****** off and held it in his hand.
“Do you have a garbage...Miss Easy?”
Mike and Easy both cracked up laughing.
“No. Just throw it behind something. Anywhere, I don’t give a ****.” She said.
Feeling a bit embarrassed, he quickly put his clothes back on. Mike stood, naked still, lighting a smoke for himself and one for Easy too. They were both smiling, rotten-toothed grins. All Bobby wanted was to get home to his wife, the guilt and shame, already eating him up. Easy laughed exhaling her cigarette.
“****. That was just what I needed. Thanks guys. Make him a copy of the key, would ya Mike?” She said, with a hearty, smoker’s cackle.
Bobby stood with his hand on the doorknob.
“See? I told you, Bobby…she likes it.”

We really couldn't afford it
but I got the tickets anyways.
We hadn't been out of the apartment
for months
didn't have money to go do anything
ever.
Louis C.K. was our favorite comedian
so I figured it'd be worth it
even if we had to live off
grilled cheese for the next week
it'd be worth it.
To be able to forget everything
the bills, the jobs, the ******* stress,
to escape that
even for just a couple of hours
and laugh our ***** off
would do us a world of good.
So I kept it a secret
wanting to surprise my lady
and give her a thrill.
Told her we were going to
downtown Phoenix
to get a drink and do the Charleston
at a 1920's themed bar.
On the freeway
just after sundown, we were headed to the theater
guided by the GPS on her phone.
We both were having full blown
panic attacks
the cars & trucks whizzing past us
at over 80 mph, bumper to bumper traffic
and we missed our exit.
The GPS re-directed us
and we pulled off at the next exit.
"See we need to get out more.I haven't been around this many people & cars in so long...ugh. It feels like we're gonna get in a wreck."
But I knew we weren't. I felt nothing inside. No butterflies.
"Alright, the GPS says to make a left turn, up here, at Adams..."
I said, navigating her through the old & dark
downtown Phoenix streets.
"A left here?" She asked.
"Yeah, that's what the GPS says."
"Okay."
Just when she went to turn
I saw the one-way street sign
that and the truck coming right at us.
"****! No, no, don't! This is a one-way street!" I yelled.
She ****** the wheel back to the right and we continued straight ahead.
"*******! Why didn't you tell me to turn down a one-way street?!"
"Hey it wasn't me. That's just what the GPS said!"
The machine kept talking, "Up at....Jefferson...make a....left...turn."
But it was another one-way street
that machine didn't know what the **** it was talking about.
I shut it off and threw it to the floor.
"Why'd you do that?"
"That ******* is gonna get us killed. We're only a block away now, I can get us the rest of the way there....alright, just pull up here and park it.
We parked on a deserted, dark, lonely street
in front of an old school house from the 1920's.
The two of us got out and walked the block to the theater.
As we approached the front, with the big sign that spelled out,
'Louis C.K.' in big, digital, yellow letters.
My lady started asking questions.
"Wait, so what are we doing? Just getting a drink and going home? I don't think I can drink, if I gotta drive home on that hectic freeway. Ugh. Is it too much to ask, to just have fun? Just for one night..."
"No darlin', it's not. That's why I got the tickets."
I said, standing under the marquee, a big ****-eating grin plastered on my face.
For a moment
it didn't quite register with her.
"Wha-what? Seriously?! Are you ******* with me? You better not be joking."
She said, unsure if I was joking, like I usually was.
"No honey. It's no joke. I mean, they're just balcony/nose bleed seats--"
With people walking & rushing all around us
she pulled me in close
smiling up at me
with that million-dollar smile.
She kissed me, like in the movies, pulling me in tight, grabbing my ***,
our tongues **** their little dance in our mouths.
"Baby, you really know how to make a gal feel special. First, roses this morning and now you surprise me with tickets to Louis? I love you, so ******* much, Danny."
Inside we sat with the other poor folks
packs of middle-aged couples
groups of teenage boys
and geeks in Star Wars t-shirts.
It was a great sight.
Strangers striking up conversations
with one another
all laughing and smiling
talking about their favorite Louis C.K. bits.
Finally
the comedian took the stage
after a roaring, packed house, standing ovation
everyone quieted down respectfully.
And for the next two hours
we didn't have any
bills
rent
electricity payments
jobs
*******.
Just laughs to be had.
And it was so great
like gospel
everything we thought in our heads
everything the two of us talked about at home
everything that made us crazy with anger
he was up there
talking about it all
reaffirming what we already knew to be true.
Dumb parents that didn't discipline their kids properly
how when you try to delete your Facebook, it sends numerous pop-ups
trying to get you to log back in
and stay connected.
That night the comedian
was able to help us forget our troubles
and laugh at the *******
society continues to eat up.
Comedians, poets, musicians,
these artists should really be called
therapists
because those two hours of sitting & laughing
did so much for us.
By the time we walked back to the car
on that deserted, dark, lonely street
we felt better.
A weight had been lifted
we could breath a little easier.
Standing by the car, I put my hands on the waist of her dress
and pulled her close to me.
"So were you surprised? Did I show you a good time honey?"
"Danny that was the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you for making it a surprise. You really got me."
And we kissed.
In front of that old school house
with it's huge white pillars
and a yellow light overhead.
A cold wind blew.
"I'm glad you had a good time darlin'. Now let's get in the car and get outta here...before we end up like Bruce Wayne's parents."
We really couldn't afford it
but it was okay.
The rent could wait another week.

Back at Donnie's place
this chick had shown me her ****.
Her brother was some guy we ran with.
She had just gotten her ******* pierced
and wanted to know what I thought.
She was a thick girl
with blonde hair
and big chubby ****.
Later
we were at a bar
one of our friends was the DJ
and another was the doorman
so all of us 18 year-old scumbags
were able to drink without too much hassle.
The night started the same way it always did
the first song of the night was always the same
'Symphony of Destruction' by Megadeth
our whole crew sitting in the corner booths
out of the light & in the dark.
We were the dimmer of lights
The party crashers
The woman stealers
The Black Circle.
We downed shot after shot
of this green **** they had
called 'Zombie'.
Drunk off my ***
feeling warm & fuzzy
I went outside for a smoke.
Matt W. ***** lay next to me on the concrete patio
in the back alley of the bar.
I had barely lit the cigarette
when the thick girl with
the big pierced ******* came out back.
We made ******* conversation
for about a minute
before I asked to see her **** again.
She carefully pulled them out
wincing at how sore they still were.
We started making out
and she asked me if I wanted to go somewhere.
I motioned towards the darkened alley behind us.
Matt lay on the ground
Laughing to himself and staring at the night sky
Taking long drags from his cigarette.
In the dark behind some cardboard boxes
And empty liquor crates
She kissed me hard and messy
Both of us reeking of ***** and cigarettes
That stinky combination.
“Why don’t you let those get some air?”
I asked, pointing at her massive mammaries.
“Okay, but…be gentle okay? They’re still really sore.”
“You got it darlin’.”
And out they came, hanging like gods in the sky
I was down on my knees
With my head under her skirt
Just going to town on this thick chick
Like I hadn’t eaten for weeks.
Her hands gripping my greasy hair
And pulling hard
As I got faster and faster
Licking and ******* like my life depended on it
Reaching up and squeezing those *******
As gently as I possibly could.
And then she tensed up
Her knees shaking, trembling, and finally
Buckling as she came
Still holding me by the hair
She pulled me back and out from under that little red skirt.
“Oh my god. Just give me a second.”
She asked, trying to catch her breath
And stop her legs from shaking.
I stood up and gave her a ***** flavored kiss.
“Well?” I asked.
“I’ll go down on you…..if that’s what you want…”
“Of course.”
And she got down on her knees
In that dark alley.
“Ouch.” She squeeled.
“What is it?”
“The ground’s got a bunch of rocks or some ****. ****.”
“Here…” I grabbed one of the cardboard boxes
broke it down in a matter of seconds
and laid it on the ground
at my feet.
“There ya go.”
Before she put it in her mouth
She laughed.
“You’re such a gentleman.”
“I have my moments.”
Afterwards
I walked back over to Matt on the patio
Buckling up my pants.
The lady thanked me
Said it was nice meeting me
And walked back inside to her brother and friends.
Donnie was now sitting with Matt on the curb.
“Where the **** did you go?”
I just started laughing.
It took him a second, but Donnie figured it out.
“Did you just **** that fat chick?”
“No man. I just got a *******. That’s all.”
“What the **** Danny? What are you a male ******* or something?”
I just kept laughing
“Hey ******* man. Nobody gives a ******* like a fat chick.”
Matt rolled over and spoke up,
“The man has a point Donnie.”

Within twenty-four hours everything changed.
The old man kicked me out again
so I was back in that twin sized bed
surrounded by my mother's boxes & plastic bins
my clothes in big piles
with the hangers left in, just dying for a home.
And the day I got kicked out
I got the call
the one I didn't think would ever come.
It was for a transcription job
doing reality t.v. shows
typing what the cast members said
in the interview room
word for word
every burp, ****, and studder.
A foot pedal is used to stop, play, rewind, and fast forward.
She asked me to come in for an interview
but then the next day
she had someone call out sick
so she called me back,
"**** the interview. Do you just wanna start? Like...today?"
So I went in that day and got typing.
The office was located in a 1960's trailer
in the middle of a small trailer park, next to a little house.
The boss was a middle-aged Rasta lady
with straight brown hair
and a very kind face.
Turned out she also ran the trailer park.
I asked her about one of the trailers with a 'For Rent' sign
the only one available in the whole lot of seven trailers.
She said it was a one bedroom and less than $500 a month.
Two days later
I got a few hundred bucks from my financial aid
that I had been waiting on.
It was my only way out
my only way in.
After I paid the move-in expenses
I only had $13 to my name
but it was alright
my good luck just kept on rolling
I found a $200 balance on my food stamp card.
At the end of the day, my face hurt
from smiling so big, for so long, I'm not used to all this.
I have a porch that's mine
Mason jars with ice water
good food in the fridge
It's only a short walk across the trailer park
to get to work everyday.
My rasta boss landlord lady
has two little boys
around my sons age.
Ever since we moved in
all he's done is play outside with them
running around with rocks, sticks, dirt, and random objects
the way kids are supposed to play.
I almost can't type this
can't put into words
what this means to me.
No more father looming over me
or mother yelling my name.
To be able to
step out onto my porch at night
seeing the Gilbert water tower lit up in white light, the scent of Joe's Real BBQ blowing in the breeze
or to walk the downtown streets
with it's old west, wooden awnings, hanging overhead.
the old tyme tattoo shop
with it's old style custom flash.
the wooden little two window, one door, the front
of my Dad's former bar
'The Mustang Lounge', where I watched him sling drinks, while I played the entertainment trivia touch screen, sipping Shirley Temples.
But the best part
and it's such a simple thing
just walking the sidewalks of my neighborhood
which are stamped, AA Beardon, 1930.
It's everything I've ever wanted
but
it's just dumb luck.
To find a job and a home
in one fell swoop like this.
I feel like I've run off and joined a commune or something
I'm on a writer's retreat
where I practice typing all day
and then cook myself dinner
at sundown.
T-Bone Walker's voice fills my little trailer
as I take in a sunsets from my porch
leaned against the railing
a jar of ice water in my hand
my stomach full
having that after dinner smoke
not having a care in the world
besides
the next cigarette
and
the next page here.
Finally.
I can put my feet up
and hold my head high.

There are literally dozens of them in the valley.
Mexican food places
that end in 'betos' or 'bertos'
but for me
there was never any other
besides 'Losbetos'.
It sat at the crossroads of
Greenfield and University
a few hundred feet from my Dad's house.
Growing up through my teen years
it was always apart of my routine.
it was always there.
I took great pride in that place
always pledging my love
for their immaculate burros.
Bean & cheese
beans, lettuce, rice, and cheese
a Country burro, with eggs, potatoes, and cheese
and of course the churros.
That's all I would order from that place.
I'd walk in
and the owner
who was always working
in his jeans and Losbeto's shirt
with the fancy leather belt and shiny Mexican buckle
I'd walk in and he'd always say
'Bean & Cheese or Country?'
From my days with Ian as ***** punkers
carrying back our brown bags of burros
to eat them while watching Jason Lives.
Then being married, living at my Dad's
my walks to Losbeto's
afforded much needed breaks
from my pregnant and moody new bride
or years later
when I was down & out
3 bucks to my name
I'd spend it there and it was always worth it.
The cheese was melted
the beans tasted like my Nana's
the tortillas were fluffy and soft
it put Filiberto's to shame.
Every woman
that has ever danced with me
and then exited my life
went through there.
One time, over a four day period,
I went in there with three different girls
a new woman everyday
and on the fourth I went in alone.
The owner's round face lit up
and he laughed loudly
as I approached the counter in my boots & leather jacket
"No girls today, my fren?"
"Ha ha ha! No, no, not today."
It was like going home
every time I walked in.
Made friends with the owner's son
and we'd always *******
about our Dad's and how nothing pleased them
he even hooked me up with a few Losbeto's hats
for preferred customers only.
I had it made.
Until last week
life falling apart
woman left me
job fired me
no money for the bus to job hunt
I was stuck.
But that night I was with a friend
and he said, he'd buy us burritos.
So we pulled up from the back
and I instantly sensed something was wrong.
The family's SUV was parked in the drive-thru
the sign shut off and darkened
a big orange U-Haul parked next to the side door.
It felt like pulling up to your house
with yellow tape surrounding it.
Without saying a word
I jumped from the truck and ran
straight for the backdoor.
When I saw the inside
my worst fears came to life
my heart sank into my gut.
The room was empty
everything moved out
lines on the walls from where
the prep table used to be.
The owner and his son
were sweeping up
while the little ninos ran around
with smiles on their faces
but none of the adults were smiling
not one.
"Wha? What's going on? Everything okay?"
I asked, hoping they were
just moving out old equipment
or something.
"No bro. We're closing down, homes."
The son said to me, with a glum look.
"What? No. Why?"
"They raised the rent on us, can't pay it, we're not making as much as we used to."
I felt guilty
I hadn't eaten there in nearly two weeks.
"So that's it? You guys are done?" I asked
The son looked to his Dad and asked him in Spanish.
He told him and then he told me,
"We're gonna try and find another location with cheaper rent, but I don't know. We'll see."
Then he gave me his number
and I said goodbye
walked back out to the truck
where my friend was waiting.
"*******, dude. You look like a family member just died."
"Yeah, that's what happened. Basically."
*******.
I'm gonna starve now.

I remember
my Dad coming in through the front door
late at night
blood stained all down
the front of his shirt
from a big open cut
right in between his eyes.
I ran to him and hugged onto his leg.
"What happened Dad?"
He patted my head
and took off his leather jacket."
"Ahhh, I got into a fight son."
"YOU DID!?"
"Yeah...some ******* busted a bottle on my face. See?"
He said, showing me the jagged cut.
"You should see the other guy. I busted him up real good, boy."
"But then why are you bleeding?"
"Cause it was my fault, I wasn't paying attention. Hit me when I wasn't looking.
See that's why I'm always telling you...be aware of your surroundings...at all times.
When you don't pay attention, this is what happens."
"Let's get the guns Dad...let's go handle this ****."
And he laughed
that infamous gut-shaking laugh of his
walking down the hall
into the bathroom
to clean himself up
and lick his wounds.

We're driving on the road at night
through the desert
between Ajo & Gila Bend
a place my Dad called
Crater Range
he told me lots of people died out there
he saw lots of scary stuff out there
and I would stare out the window
into the desert.
The headlights lighting up
the shrubs and rocks
the full moon in the sky
taking care of the rest
the arroyos
the rusty train tracks
the vast
neverending
stretch of white rocks, shrubs, and sand
illuminated and glowing blue.
And he'd keep talking to me
while my mother and sister slept.
We'd keep talking
forever it seemed
I eagerly awaited these talks
the green light in the radio lighting up his face
his beard moving up and down
telling me about all the family members & friends
that died on this road
he told me about them
as we passed through a large formation of rocks
on both sides of the road
Class of 79'
Martina & Ernesto 4 Ever
Peace signs & pentagrams
were spray painted all over the rock walls.
And from that green, glowing, radio
Morrison's voice
singing
about the killer on the road.
And then it'd get real quiet again
we both would
and I'd just lean my head against that window
staring out
into the darkness
and looking
squinting real hard
looking for something
anything
alive and moving
lit up in the light from the moon
down in the arroyo
or by the tracks.
There was something out there
I knew it.

In the past ten years
the world has changed
completely.
The Digital Age.
That's they all call it.
You used to be able to
fill out a paper application
hand it to the manager and
begin to charm your way in.
Not in the digital age
everything is done online
face to face, is dead.
And everyone
the people out there in the world
the people in markets, shopping malls, restaurants, bars and cafes
they've all got their heads down
their faces illuminated
their thumbs working a mile a minute
they're everywhere.
A table at a pizzeria
an entire family there eating
Mom, Dad, the two teenage girls, and the ten year-old boy
they've all got devices in their hands
and faces lit up.
No one talks to each other
except to share a funny video
occasionally.
We're all becoming strangers to each other
putting all of our eggs
into one digital basket.
phone numbers
addresses
credit card numbers
social security information
passwords
every conversation
every call
every move we make
what kind of foods we eat
what books we read (or don't)
what political causes we support
pictures of our
kids
families
homes
naked lovers
it's all on
one
little
device.
Paper is a sin
didn't ya hear?
Ya gotta
go green
go digital
you're either
with us
or against us.
It's a dangerous game
the world is getting itself into.
a house of cards
a mansion built on a sand cliff
sharing a bank account with a ******.
All it would take
is for the satellites to get
shut off
damaged
knocked out
wiped out.
Don't laugh like that
don't brush it off
don't be so smug.
Then what will you do?
When the apps
won't load
when your devices
no longer sync to the network
when there is
no page to display
and everyone is left
with zero bars
and no signal.
When then?
When the digital age becomes the Dark Age?
Huh?
What then?
You *****.

Flat broke.
Eleven bucks to my name.
But I didn't care
I was gonna get a pack of smokes
and a burrito anyways.
A guy's gotta live sometime.
Walking past the dirt lot
behind the gas station
I spotted a ten dollar bill
smiling up at me from the dirt & rocks.
I snatched it up
and ran with it held up in the air.
"Woooo hoooo!" I hollered.
Running & skipping
all the way to Losbeto's.
Walking back
a bean & cheese in my hand
smokes rolled up in my shirt sleeve
a ****-eating grin on my face.
Passing the dirt lot again
there was a guy with his head down
looking for something in the dirt.
"Ya lose something?" I asked.
"Yeah....thirty ******' bucks man. A ten and a twenty."
"****, that *****." I said, feeling a bit bad.
"Can I get a cigarette?" He asked, pointing to the rolled up pack in my sleeve.
"Sure." I said, pulling a Pall Mall and handing it to him.
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it."
I didn't normally *** smokes
to people I didn't know.
But
I had to.
I mean, he paid for em'.
Now every time I walk by that dirt lot
I find myself scanning the ground
looking for that missing twenty.
Every time.

We were just laying there
her in front of me
my arms wrapped around, holding her tight.
It was one of those modern cushy porch swings
as comfortable as a couch.
Kissing behind her ear
that one special spot
it got her worked up real fast
she grabbed my hand and slipped it down
beyond the elastic waistband of her pajama pants.
It was so cold outside
felt like she was steamin' on the inside.
She reached around and unzipped my pants
taking it out and rubbing it against her ***
the moon giant sized, yellow, and rare
above us
as I slipped it in from behind
still laying down, her in front of me.
It was such a relief
after months of no lovin'
on account of her Christian pre-marital *** guilt.
With each ******
the swing moved more and more
just swingin'
rockin & rollin with the *** beat
we had goin.
That's when we both heard the front door of her house
slam shut.
It was her mother.
From the backyard we could see the entire house
through the numerous windows.
Her mom was a real miserable *****
from China.
She hated my guts
hated everyone
especially herself, it seemed.
She was headed straight to the backdoor
we were frozen stiff
too terrified to move
my **** just sitting inside of her
our pants around our ankles
hidden beneath the blanket draped over us.
Her mom set down her bag and was coming right for us
we were caught.
And my pecker was about to get cut off
with a Chinese sword.
Then
not two feet from the backdoor
she was about to bust us
when my girlfriend's little sister
grabbed her mother's hand
and pulled her
led her back to the other side of the house.
We scrambled to pull our pants up
pulled the blanket back over ourselves
and sat upright.
I pulled her close to me
and gave her a soft kiss,
whispering
"*******. That was close, huh?"
"Yeah too ******* close. Oh my God. She would've killed you Danny..."
And she kissed me again
both of us cracking up and laughing in mid-kiss.
I put my arm around her and breathed a sigh of relief.
Her mother's voice boomed into the backyard
as the door swung open, hitting the wall
"HEY! GET YOUR ARM OFF OF HER!"
Whatever you say lady.
Whatever you say.

All day long
saying the same five sentences
over and over again
hustling satellite t.v. customers
for more money
getting them to take more premium movie channels.
But most everybody was broke
out of work
down & out
like half the ******* country.
I'd get an old lady from Compton, California
"No, no, honey. I can't do no mo. I just called in
last week to remove some channels. Can't do nothin. I'm
legally blind now, can't even watch no t.v. They gonna
cut my legs off this Sunday...cause of my diabeetus. And
my son was just murdered yesterday. I can't do no mo.
No sir. God bless you. Bye bye."
And onto the next call I went.
Yes ma'am
that job made me feel like
a real ******* *******.

He woke up
next to the empty spot
where Wonder Woman had been.
He puked in the toilet
slammed down a forty-ounce Miller High Life
and started putting the suit on.
boots
the gray and black tights
the gloves
the yellow utility belt
and the cape.
It was leather.
He put the cowl
under his arm and left his apartment.
It was a late start
nearly noon
by the time
the bus got him to
Mann's Chinese Theater.
He saw a lot of his
friends and colleges
as the bus went down to his stop.
It was a regular day
all the characters were
in their usual little groups.
Spider-Man & Captain America
two Mormon boys that had been
excommunicated from the church
they got caught **** *******
each other
now they were stuck in Hollywood
like everyone else.
The X-Men
or H-Men as most people called them
were a group of junkies.
One of them had a cousin at Fox
and they got four replica X-Men costumes.
So that's how they scored
their junk everyday
garnered pretty good tips from the tourists.
Cyclops, Jean-Grey, Storm, and Wolverine.
It was a good grift. **** good idea.
Then you had the impersonators
plastic surgery freaks
obsessed with Michael Jackson
creepy bald men dressed as Dr. Evil
and there was always
a lazy fat guy
that would do Elvis.
Not know any of the songs
and saying the catch phrases all wrong,
"Well, thank you Ma'am....thank you so much."
Those guys never lasted too long.
The cutesy cartoon characters
were almost always
pedophiles or ******* ladies.
The horror people were hands down
the most bat-**** insane of the lot.
They got into the most fights
they terrorized the kids
and they talked a lot of ****.
Would bate guys into fights.
Michael Myers would always start ****
with guys that had beautiful women with them.
It was ****** up.
The LAPD took away Freddy Kruger last month
for beating up a guy
right in front of his kids.
There was talk from the cops
about shutting down their whole thing down.
Making it illegal to dress up in costumes
and get tips.
'Panhandling' as the office had said.
But
Batman hung out with
Superman & Wonder Woman
while doing his thing.
The night before
Wonder Woman and him
had been drinking, smoking, and
they ****** once
before she asked him
what she needed to.
"We got two new guys starting tomorrow."
"What?"
"Yeah. They came up to me on the street today,
wanted to know if they could hang with us."
"Wha? What? Well...do they have costumes?"
"Yeah." She said, exhaling smoke, wrapped in the sheet on the bed.
"These guys got a Green Lantern and a Robin costume. Really good quality,
they showed me pictures. Hey, you finally got a Robin now! Isn't that great?"
"****...I don't know Diana...I was kinda liking our little *******.
"Oh come on, Bruce. It'll be good." She said, wrapping her arms around him
as he sat on the edge of the book, looking out the window.
"We can finally get the big, group tips. Like what the H-Men got going."
"Alright. That's fine."
And the next day
there they were,
Green Lantern & Robin.
Wonderful costumes, like she said
their hair color and overall appearance
spot on.
"Hey there!"
"Hello. Robin. Green Lantern."
Their gloved hands all shook.
They got acquainted and he couldnt help but like them.
Nice guys, musicians, Rockabilly guys, from Venice.
They went out into
the crowd of people
Superman's voice booming over the crowd
telling everyone that they're safe from
evil and wrong doers, blah, blah, blah,
the usual ******* that Superman always said.
Batman yelled to Robin over the enclosing crowd.
They were now fully entrenched by people
fat & sweaty
Batman's panic attack took over.
"COME ON!" He shouted over the rising crowd noise.
The dynamic duo
shoved & pushed
parting the sea of fat tourists
and breaking out onto the sidewalk.
"What's up, Batman?" Robin asked
looking up to him.
The size difference was just like in the comics
Robin was a little guy.
"I just needed to get outta there. Let's go take a lap
down Hollywood Boulevard...see what kinda cash we can grab."
"Okay, Batman."
They walked
up and down
the walk of fame
posing for a few pictures
making some kids day
with wide-eyed excitement
that will be with them forever.
They made forty bucks too.
"Alright, that's good for now. Let's grab a beer, Robin."
It was a small dive
on Hollywood Boulevard
they were two beers in
and Robin was learning a lot
about how Hollywood really was.
Some real talk from Batman to Robin.
"Yup. I moved out here in 1997. I saw that movie 'Swingers' and I thought...
I could do that, that could be my life, I want that."
"And what happened Bats?"
"Well...I came out here, went to film school, did everything I was told, and...
I still got ******." He said, taking a long pull from the bottle.
"Well what happened exactly?"
Robin's green glove, gripping the brown bottle
tilting it back, bubbles rising
"Well...ya see...when I was in film school, the instructors all told us...you either do your internship here in Hollywood or go to New York. Anywhere else and you won't be able to make it. That's what they said."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. So I did my internship here in Hollywood and it was for nothing. The whole two years that I was at Faramount, I was never allowed to even touch any film equipment. Well, just to dust it off and clean it. But they didn't even try to teach me anything there. I just did food runs at lunch, got them their Starbucks in the morning, and took out the trash. Swept the parking lot, cleaned the toilets, I was a ******* janitor at that place. And you know what happened next?"
"Huh?"
"One day they just fired me. Just like that. After two years of being their ***** boy. So now I have $50,000 in student loans that I can't pay back, and a degree that got me nowhere."
"****." Robin said, finishing his beer.
"Yeah. So what do you do?"
"I'm in school for audio engineering."
"Ah...the music business eh?"
"Yeah, Batman."
"Hmm."
Batman grew silent then, just finishing his beer, and staring into the mirrored wall.
He wanted to say,
"I have 117 scripts sitting in a stack next to my t.v. That's eight screenplays a year. Robin, I've been at this for fourteen years and it doesn't get any better. I never stop trying and I keep at it, year after year. But I'm done. Get out while you
still can Robin. This city will eat you, **** you, **** you. If you still have a home, I suggest you go back to it."
Batman sat there, his beer finished, still staring straight ahead.
Robin pulled out a ten dollar bill, smiling, calling for the bartender
with that sparkle in his eye
of youth and hope.
He didn't want to say all that ****
crush that gleam in Robin's eye
like he once had.
Those were the best days
the great days
the glory days
to be young, handsome, poor, and hopeful
that you could make it
that it could happen.
So Batman didn't say another word about it.
Nope.
There were things
Robin would have to learn all on his own.

It wasn't quite a party.
More of a kickback
just ten or twelve friends
drinking and smoking from a huge glass ****
all of them huddled around the computer
watching funny videos on YouTube
of people getting hurt and ****.
The guy at the controls
went to a website
ratemyboobs.com or ratemytits.com
something like that
and the four girls there
all moaned and groaned
saying they didn't want to see **** like that.
The guys all laughed
and continued rating the pictures of *****
as they came up one by one
when all of the sudden
a picture of a guy holding his ****
came up on the screen.
The girls finally had a reason to laugh
the guys were all grossed out
but one guy more than anyone else
he freaked out.
"What the ****, bro?! I don't wanna see guy's *****! I'm not gay!"
"Relax man...no one said that you were. Chill out."
He looked like he was hyperventilating and about to
break out in ******* hives.
"But that's gay ****, bro! I'm not gay, so I don't wanna see that ****! ****!"
He stomped off to the backyard
lighting a cigarette
you could still hear him out there
shouting over and over
"I'm not gay. I'm not ******* gay!"
he yelled, pacing back & forth.
Everyone around the computer
didn't know what to say
so they just chuckled quietly
and then someone said it.
What every person there was thinking,
"Wow. That's sad. He's totally gay."
one of the girls said.
"Yup. Totally gay..." the guy at the computer said cracking up.
He rated the **** picture
ten out of ten
and moved on
to more ****.

As a child
I had a fear that one could
become homeless
fairly easily.
I'd see a homeless man on the corner
and wonder how he got that way.
"Mom?"
"What Daniel?"
"What if I grow up to be homeless? Like that man on the corner?"
"Mijo...I'd never let that happen..."
She did put my mind at ease,
but at the same time
I wondered
is that what the homeless man's Mom
told him
when he was a little boy?

Ernesto got up to get a glass of water from the fridge.
On his way back to the bedroom
he stopped by the closed door to the laundry room.
He could overhear her
talking to him
that man.
He suspected something was up
but he didn't let on
not one bit.
When she came to bed
he smiled
when she smiled
kissed her goodnight
when she kissed him.
Then he lay in the dark
waiting.
When she started
to snore
he snuck her phone
out into the hall
and sat on the floor.
Reading her correspondence
with this other man.
According to the texts
they had ****** two days earlier
and it felt so good
she had said
better than her husband.
She was planning on leaving him
in a week.
He set her phone back on her nightstand
while she snored in her sleep
unaware of the storm building
in her husband's head.
The next day
just after lunch
he walked into the doctor's office
where she worked the front desk.
He quickly made his way through the door
and behind the desk.
She knew what was
going down
the moment she saw the look on her husband's face
and the gun in his hand.
"Ernesto...NO PLEASE! I didn't-"
"You did."
He calmly said
almost whispered
before firing
two shots
into her face
breaking apart her jaw
and the top of her skull
it snapped off
and landed on the desk
brains, blood, and gore
painted the computer.
The entire waiting room
and back office
screaming & running
from the building.
He calmly put the gun under his chin
took of a sip from his wife's
thermos on the desk
and pulled the trigger.
He woke up
in the hospital.
Handcuffed to the bed
face wrapped in gauze
tubes & needles stuck in him.
He would go on to be
the most disfigured man in cell block 9.
A **** shame.
Things rarely
turn out how you envision them.
Marriages
Love
or
******-Suicides.
It could go either way.
All of it.

I can never  seem to warm up
these days.
Its freezing all day
my feet like popsicles
pale, white, and frozen.
Winter is really
hitting Arizona
Its
wet
gray
painful
Ian Curtis and Hank Williams weeping in the black clouds above
walking to the bus stop
my freshly shaved bald head
numb from the cold.
The pomp
the greasy combed hair
gone.
Since my pin-up girlfriend
the Marilyn to my Elvis
packed up and left.
The week before Christmas.
I can't say I really blame her
I can't say she didn't try
She stuck it out a good while there
She left because I cant hold down
a job
and because
I caught her going behind my back
with another man
that combed his hair too.
Secret conversations
with a guy that had what I didn’t
Vintage wool suits
An apartment in New York City
And exotic antiques.
No matter how handsome a ***
eventually
he doesn’t stand a chance.
She used to joke about it even
“Ya know, you’re lucky you’re so handsome.”
when we both knew most woman would be leaving.
I forgot to tell her
good looks only get you so far
and they don’t last very long.
But I got a job
actually
started it the day she left for Tucson.
It’s a place that represents small business office suppliers
paper, ink toner, pens, pencils.
They get small offices to ditch the corporate
staples office max kinkos office depot
and go with small business suppliers instead
stimulate the local economy they say.
It’s a cool gig
pays high commissions and is a real quiet place.
It sits in a business district that’s right next to
an artificial lake
a big winding one
going around medium sized lakeside houses
with tiny docks and tiny boats.
It’s so close
Its just right there
out the backdoor
next to the radio blaring AC/DC
outside it’s like an entire other world
not Arizona.
green waters
thick green grass
little green *****
from the green headed
mallard ducks.
There’s pairings of them all over
a lady said they mate for life.
Those mallards
they give all that fake stuff life
they make it real.
On our smoke breaks we all go out there
most everybody just stands
and smokes on a little back porch area.
laughing, joking, telling stories
putting the cigarette butts neatly in a coffee can.
sometimes I’ll walk away from the group
and stand at the green/blue water’s edge
staring at the concrete shelf of the fake lake
just beneath the water
the real dirt
concealed beneath the murky blue/green mixture.
And everyday
I miss her
a little bit
less
and a little bit
less
with every
fake wave
that rolls in.
I just gotta warm up
winter has really hit Arizona.

I used to live with these two friends—
A long-haired Navajo guy that was into Satan & Death Metal,
and an average white guy into Star Wars & Metallica.
This one night
we were going to see Danzig in concert.
Before we went to the show
we had to get a money order and mail it to our landlord
for rent.
The three of us went inside the Circle K,
got the money order, cigarettes, and some water.
On the way out,
back to the car,
there was an old, crusty, homeless Native guy
his neck draped in rosaries,
like Mr. T is in gold.
As we walked by, he said,
“Can you guys spare some change?”
“Sure,” my Navajo friend said, digging his pocket for change.
He was just about to drop a handful of coins
into the ***’s hand
when the old guy said,
“Oh thank you. God bless you …”
A smile came over my Navajo friend’s face
as he put the change back into his pocket.
“Nope. You shouldn’t have said that. You just HAD to bring God into it, didnt you?”
“Ohhh *******,” the old guy yelled.
“Why don’t you ask God for some money then?"
We all laughed getting in the car.
The old *** kept talking.
“Just get outta here. Something bad is gonna happen to you boys. Go, get away from me. Something bad is gonna happen to you …”
My Navajo friend didn't miss a beat,
“Yeah? Well, if you don’t shut the **** up, something bad is gonna happen to YOU *******.
The old man looked down to his rosaries and began to pray.
We drove across the street to the post office
to mail the money order for the rent.
The boys stayed in the car while I got out to mail it.
The post office was already closed
and all they had were those stubby little pencils.
It had to be signed in ink.
I went back outside
“You guys have a pen?”
“Nope.”
“****.”
“Just ask somebody. And hurry up, we're gonna be late!”
Just then I saw a plump, middle-aged woman getting out of a minivan.
I approached her.
“Excuse me? Ma’am? Do you happen to have a pen I could use? I have to send off a money order for rent and I just realized I don’t have one …?
The lady sighed heavily, sounding annoyed, she turned back around
and began walking back to her minivan.
“I’m sorry to put you out, I just HAVE TO send this out…”
Getting into her van, she turned around and screamed at me,
“I don’t have any money for you to take from me. I WILL NOT BE ACCOSTED!”
She started the minivan and made a quick getaway.
“What the hell happened?”
“That crazy broad thought I was trying to rob her.”
We all laughed our ***** off at her choice of words:
ACCOSTED.

As we drove off, I remembered the old man’s words
“something bad is gonna happen.”
It coulda been worse.

So we said **** it and mailed it the next day.
The late fee was $15.00.

******* Your Sister

There was something familiar about her face. Something in the way she tossed her brown hair back and smiled. I couldn’t quite place it. She was an out-of=town biker *****. I was just an in-town biker. We leaned against the bar, my hand on her hip.
Wow. You just don’t give a ****, do you?” she said, wrapping her arms around me.
“Oh, I give a ****, I’ll share it with you, if you want.”
Her smile grew wide, as she bi her big bottom lip.
“You wanna get outta here?”
We roared into the motel parking lot. She pointed to a room, and I parked right next to her bike.
“I say *******! Your bike feels good, makes my thighs twitch,” she said.
On the way to the door, her knees were trembling. They buckled slightly, every few seconds. Yeah, this was gonna be all right. Back in the bar, we had something magnetic when we locked eyes. It was always a good sign, when you had that. I pushed her down ******* the bed, pressed her mouth to mine. She was a sloppy kisser, all over the place. Not soft and gently, like I expected. Well, we lay there anyways, kissing and grinding our hips. The chin of my beard was wet.
The radio blared a Doors song.
“Let it roll, baby roll …”
Suddenly, it hit me. No, no, this is all wrong. I pulled back.
“What?” she asked, smiling.
“*******.” I rolled off of her and stood up, tightening the strap of my leather jacket.
“What the ****?” she shouted, impatiently.
“I can’t do this.” I said, shaking my head.
“Why the **** not?”
“Well … ugh. You look just like my sister. I couldn’t figure it out before, but the resemblance is just too much. Christ, I’m sorry, darlin’.”
She sat on the bed, mouth hanging open in disbelief. She slowly formed a sentence.
“Let me get this straight … so … you’re seriously NOT gonna **** me?”
“Baby, I can’t.”
“Well, ****,” she said, sitting up, pulling her **** back into her AC/DC shirt.
I pulled out a joint and lit it up.
“I can’t ****** believe this **** … lemme hit that.”
I passed her the joint.
“Yeah, I know. I can’t believe it either. You could be her twin.”
“No, it’s all right.” She took a big hit and held it in as she spoke. “As bad as I wanted to **** your brains out … it’s okay. That’s actually very respectable. Ya Know? Shows you really care about your family and ****.”
“Yeah, I do. Nothing is more important than family.”
“You’re a good guy, Dan.”
"Well, its mainly because I don’t wanna feel like I’m ******* my sister.”
“*******.”
She finally passed the joint back, both of us laughing like children.

Used to smoke a pack a day,
now it’s just two cigarettes
in the evening time,
when the lady is in the shower
and after the ******
has been smoked.
I sit on the ledge of our patio,
legs stretched out
Exhaling long trails of smoke.
observing
the busy apartment complex.
Mainly blacks & Mexicans
with a dash of Apache Junction
white trash.
Two girls
in their early twenties
sit on a bench in the little courtyard
talking loudly.
gesturing wildly
about some ***** neither can stand.
Purple lightning flashes overhead,
illuminating
the courtyard.
Then it begins to sprinkle
And then it starts to rain.
A woman walks down the stairs from her apartment.
She’s barefoot and smiling,
head tilted up towards the sky,
taking in deep breaths
of the good rain smell.
I imagine she’s been waiting for this.
Waiting on the rain.
In her apartment.
It’s really started coming down.
She couldn’t light her cigarette,
the rain was dropping from everywhere.
Two children
run and skip down the sidewalk
with their mother running close behind.
Her arms, both of them,
full of mail, grocery bags, and a baby,
yellin at her kids,
“hurry, hurry, hurry up. C’mon, the mail is getting wet and I got Netflix
here, *******, move your *****.”
A man in a motorized wheelchair
Emerges from one of the halls
across the courtyard.
I watch his electric chair
buzz by on the sidewalk.
He was going for a full lap
of the place it seemed.
When he passed me, I saw
droplets of rain
breaking on his face and streaming down.
Grinning ear to ear
he winked one eye at me.
made me smile.
This is Arizona.
Rain in the summer is a gift.
Means a lot to us. All of us

We’re in many different places.
For some
It’s a basement
Or a motel room.
For others
It’s a kitchen table
with all the lights off
just the single bulb ahead.
We spend our nights
Smoking and typing
sharpening our senses
with drink or smoke
and typing for hours
night after night.
Klick klick klick ding shhhhhhhht
the typewriter sings it's tune.
For me it always comes back to the porch.
Everywhere I move
I always end up on the porch.
Never without the
Kerr “Self-Sealing” wide mouth Mason jar.
Full of ice cold water
constantly refilled throughout the night.
Always dripping with condensation
even at night.
It’s ******’ burnin’ up outside.
Ya gotta suffer for it
though
That’s what makes the difference.
Right now
someone is alone in a room
pacing back and forth
burning themselves with a cigarette
staring at a page.
They’re the only ones that
will ever see it.
Either the drink or the drug
will take them first.
Or they just slip into and get lost in
the madness.
Then they become as
indecipherable
as the academic intellectuals.
Hell,
It could happen to me too.
We’ll see what happens.
Keeping it going
Every night
standing on the porch
pouring it out
sending off a weekly
5 poems
getting it out there
like so many do.
We’re in many different places.

She could never do anything.
Her parents thought nearly everything
was immoral & blasphemous.
A boy from school had gotten her
a poster for her birthday
of her favorite band Good Charlotte.
It was just harmless pop music
but her parents didnt approve of
all their black clothes, tattoos, spiky hair, and eyeliner
so they were making her tear it down.
It was the only thing
hanging on her walls
that was hers.
Everything else had to do with
Joseph Smith & the Morman Temple.
That's all the two of them ever talked about
but when she actually asked questions
and was critical of the beliefs of the church
they just shut her down
with empty answers & irrelevant metaphors.
"But Mom there isn't anything bad about this band! It's made for kids!"
"That's what worries me Amanda...the media & music companies want to poison your mind. The morals of this country are falling apart, heck they're not even there anymore. Amanda...you and I both know that this band does not follow the teachings of the prophet. You know how we feel, you need to choose the right. Remember?"
With her head down and tears falling, she knew she couldnt win.
"Yes."
"Okay then."
Her Mom said, tearing the poster off the wall.
She held it out to her.
"Come on. Rip it up."
"What?"
"Rip the poster in half."
"No. No way. If you wanna tear it, then you do it. I'm not gonna destroy a gift from my friend. What is the point of this? Am I not allowed to have anything?!"
Her father stormed into the room.
"Young lady....I am NOT going to stand for such disobedience!"
Her mother stood in the doorway, while her father violently ripped the chords for her phone and t.v. out of the wall.
"Three months grounding. To your room, no phone, no tv, and absolutely no theater activities after school. I don't care what it's for. Now sit on that bed, and get out your book of morman. Dinner will be ready soon, you can come down then."
He slammed the door shut and locked it from the outside. They had a special lock installed.
She paced the room, her thoughts going a mile a minute.
If she didnt do something, she would lose her mind, she decided.
Inside a pile of stuffed animals was a phone.
Her secret phone.
One of those prepays, she kept it on with babysitting money.
She didnt know if it would do any good, but she called the cops. She had to try something.
An hour later
they were eating dinner in silence, when the doorbell rang.
Her father shot her a suspicious look, before getting up to answer.
The girl could hear the officers talking to her father at the door.
They came inside and sat in the den
talking
for a good five minutes, maybe more.
Finally he called her into the room.
"Amanda."
"Yes, Dad."
"Did you call the police on me?"
"...yes." She said, looking down.
"Why? I havent hit you. Have I?"
"No. But...you keep me locked up all the time. You wont just let me be a normal kid. You're so into the church, you can't see what it's doing to you. Officers I've spent the past two months locked up in my room. Now they want to ground me three more months. All because I wouldn't tear up a Good Charlotte poster. Just because they're not mormon, doesn't mean that they're bad. Does everything have to be about church? All the time"
The two cops looked at each other, concerned, with wrinkled brows.
They were both young, crew cutted, blond hair, blue eyed, boys in blue.
One spoke up, clearing his throat.
"Amanda...a band like that...doesn't follow or honor the teachings of the one, true, prophet....Joseph Smith."
"Yes, you really must obey your parents. The lord commands it."
"Nooooooooooooo!!!"
The girl shrieked, blood-curdling, up the stairs
to her room.
They were everywhere, there was no escape. Her parents, teachers, neighbors, friends, and even the police.
It was the Mormon Church's town.
She finally embraced the solitude
decided to just ride it out
wait them out
and then get out.
When I finally got a car
I would drive by her house
and she would always be there in the window
waving back at me.
She had two long years of that
before she was finally
granted freedom at eighteen.
My friend in the Tower of Zion
the Morman Rapunzel
Pretty in Pink with her short blond hair.
She had to be free.
Today she lives on a piece of land
with her husband and some dogs.
She made it.

It was a suicide.
He had gotten drunk,
too drunk.
He tried going to the bar he worked at,
it was his night off,
but they turned him away.
“You’ve already had too much to drink. Go sleep it off, pal.”
Instead he went home,
put a glock 9mm to his head
And blew his brains out
on his back porch.
His roommate found him.
There was no note,
no answers,
just questions left behind.
A week later was the memorial service.
He was an atheist,
a vocal one at that.
Had a tattoo of a rotting zombie Christ
on his arm.
But his family was devout Lutherans,
so that was the send off he got.
Standing against the wall,
in the small chapel,
the lines were clearly divided.

Seated in the pews were people
dressed in bright, happy colors.
Pastels.
Blues, greens, pinks, yellows, and lavenders.
Those were his blood relatives
and Lutheran members of the family’s church.

Then on the edges and in the back
Stood and sat his other family,
the metal heads, the punks, the ******* kids, and subculture misfits,
Dressed in black,
arms & legs tattoed with ink.

The pastels
spoke in unison, reciting prayers and scripture,
While the kids in black, stood silent
Unmoved by the minister’s words about Christ.
The pastels bowed their heads in prayer, for the poor boy’s soul.

We in black looked around the room,
studying their pinched faces
while they remained blind.
One woman apparently could feel my stare
cause she opened her eyes, and looked right into mine.
Never will forget that look she had,
like she knew something I didn’t.

The minister in the white and green robe kept talking,
saying my friend was in the loving arms of Jesus.
Guess he forgot that suicides got
a one-way ticket straight to hell.
It was typical.
A spiritual buffet,
take what you like,
ignore what you don’t.
But I don’t blame them, not one bit.
What parent wants to imagine
their child burning in that lake of fire,
never to be held in their arms again?
No one.

His mother went up and said a few words,
Some stories,
funny ones from his childhood.
Then his neighbor went up and spoke,
then an old girlfriend from high school.
And then a great silence.
The podium stood empty.
Before I knew it,
my hands were gripping the wooden podium
and my mouth was talking.
Telling the pastels & black shirts kids
about the first time I saw him.
He was in the mosh pit doing spin kicks and backflips
like a five-foot-six, blonde, ninja in Saucony jazz shoes.
And how I never saw him be unkind or mean to anyone,
that he was a GOOD boy.
My eyes began to burn,
I felt my throat tightening.
“Really gonna miss him,” I managed to choke out.
I took my place back against the wall
as the slideshow & music started up.
They were playing The Beatles.
My friend was a Black Sabbath kind of guy.

Outside I saw faces not seen in years,
not since I was a 17-year-old kid.
I saw Matty standing there.
We had just buried another one
of the boys from the crew,
Munster
less that six months earlier.
Poor Munsey.
Now Matty and I were the only ones left.
Went straight up to him and we both latched on,
sobbing & shaking
hugging each other as tight as we could.
“It’s too much, man. It’s too soon. They’re both ******* GONE.”
He was broken and I was worried about him.
Very much so.

Then we all met at a bar,
his bar.
The one he worked at and got turned away from that night.
We told stories
like when everyone was trying to **** this girl
and he wasn’t, but she pulled him into a room
at the end of the night …
picking him over us all.
Or how he could make his ***** do all kinds of tricks,
disappearing and reappearing in his red *******.
“The popper” he called it.
We slammed down shots & brews
burying our little buddy, one glass at a time.
And the last thing …
His parents showed up at the bar
cradling T-shirts on hangars, his clothes.
I saw someone pick up his Blood For Blood shirt.
It had been OUR shirt, we shared it back and forth.
We both loved that band, they sang about “living in exile” like we both did.
“****, that was our shirt,” I said to the table of drunk and grieving friends.
“Well, go get it, man. Go on.”
I went up to the guy holding it.
“Hey man, that shirt means a lot to me, can I …”
Before I could finish, it was in my hands.
The guy gave a generous smile,
“Then you should have it.”
I sat back down at the table of friends,
holding the shirt up to my face.
He lingered in my nose, one last time.
But my little buddy was gone,
a faded T-shirt and a few funny stories
were all that remained.
We all toasted one last shot.
I said,
“to the lost …”
and the table of old friends all repeated,
“To the lost.”
Rest well in your dreamless sleep, pal.
Down the hatch.
Watch it go
With a black tooth grin.

Just
six years old
when I found out that kids could die.
There was a family at my grandma’s church—
The only black family
in the entire congregation.
The mother
was petite, wore thick glasses, and played piano during church.
The father
was greatly obese, with thinning hair, and a permanent smile.
Their two boys
were four and twelve years old.
The night of their death
I saw them at church.
Service had just gotten out
and I was running wild with my two friends.
Both a grade higher than me.
We ran across the large stage
and jumped into the huge bathtub
they used for baptisms.
The four year old boy,
only an hour away
from Death’s grip.
He said to me with a big, genuine smile,
“Hi Daniel.”
But he was only four.
Practically a baby, I thought.
I was running with the big kids.
No time for babies.
So I turned back to running around with my friends,
ignoring his friendly greeting.
An hour later
that little boy’s dad
pulled the family Lincoln Town car over on the freeway.
Flat tire.
While the dad was walking around the back of the car,
the wife and two boys were waiting inside.
Some ******* drunk
slammed into the car.
The dad watched the car
fly forward and burst into flames.
The smiling four year old
burned to death that night.
The twelve year old
suffered severe brain damage and died two days later.
The mother’s face, chest, back, neck, arms, and hands bore
charred and bubbling skin.
The father died of a heart attack a few months later.
That piano playing lady of the Lord
buried her whole family.
A decade later,
a teenager back at my grandma’s church
for mother’s Day.
The burned
former mommy and wife
still sat and played at that piano.
For some reason
she was still working for the big guy upstairs.
I couldn’t understand it then, and I still don’t.
For not saying “Hi”
to that doomed little boy that night.
That was the first time I’d ever felt like an *******.
When I was six years old.

I keep coming across these guys
on the bus
walking the streets
they’re just about everywhere
I am.

Sitting across from one of ’em
on the city bus
spooks me down to my core.
They’ve got slicked back
greasy hair
that’s turning gray,
tanned skin from walking in the sun
too much.
Old-style tattoos up and down
their arms
that are blurry and faded green
women’s names are no longer legible
in the little banner around
a simple heart tattoo.
I always wonder where
their women went
cause they never have one
next to them.

Sitting across from this guy,
he takes a good look at me too.
My slicked back, greasy hair, pale skin, and new old-style tattoos.
It’s like he’s lookin’ back
and I’m lookin’ forward
to a future that just might end up
being my own.
I see these men
down & out,
rolling ****** Top Tobacco cigarettes
with brown & yellow fingertips
pregnant little toothpick smokes
with loose ends that spill tobacco
all over their laps
on their faded grey-used-to-be-black
rustler jeans
the cheap kind from K-Mart.
I see these men
and it terrifies me
to think
that could be me and my future.
It could be me.
If I don’t get my **** together.
Cause
right now
today
as I get ready to pull this sheet
from the typewriter and catch the
2:48 p.m. bus
I am going nowhere
Fast.
**** me.

I’d get a call over the walkie-talkie, write down what parts were needed, find them in the parts’ warehouse tent, load ’em up, and deliver them to the job site. It was pretty easygoing. In between orders I’d just sit in the air-conditioned truck, listening to Howard Stern and napping here and there. When I could. After a month, they hired another guy to be my partner. He was a computer programming geek, married with kids, and he had these stupid cartoon tattoos all over his arms. Japanese anime **** and Hanna-Barbara characters. The guy really got on my nerves, one of those know-it-all nerds.
Our boss was the biggest Native I’d ever seen. Looked like a Navajo Andre the Giant, only he had a big, black, handlebar mustache. Which as surprising, because, I was under the impression Navajo’s couldn’t grow ****** hair. He stood at nearly 6’6” with long skinny legs, a barrel chest covered in silver and turquoise jewelry. When he got angry, his eyes went wild, like fire raging out of control. Like the time I got the flatbed truck stuck on an embankment and the back axle snapped off. “******* JUNIOR!” he shouted. My old man was one of the foremen there, so everyone just called me Junior. Oh yes, my boss, Darren, was a scary guy to say the least. So me and my delivery partner were making a run to the jobsite one day, the radio blaring “Free Bird” by Lynyrd Skynyrd, just getting into the fast final part of the song. The good part. Right in the middle of the guitar solo, my partner changed the station to Nickleback, of all things. I quickly switched it back to the Skynyrd.
“What’s wrong with you? Don’t change it in the middle of “Free Bird,” I said.
My partner rolled his eyes and switched it back to Nicklecrap.
“Come on, get with the times, man. This is the new ****.”
“Yeah, **** is right.”
I switched it back AGAIN, but the song was ending.
“You made me miss the song, ya’ ******’ *****.’
“Why don’t ya’ just cry about it then?”
“*******.”
We delivered the parts and parked the truck back inside the parts’ warehouse tent. With no calls coming in over the radio, we cranked the a/c and dozed off to Howard Stern talking about an “**** ring toss” game they were going to play. I woke up an hour later to Darren’s angry voice coming in over the radio. “Where the **** are you guys? *******, we got parts that gotta go out. I’m headed to the tent …”
I looked over to my partner, snoring away in the driver’s seat. For a second, I contemplated waking him up. Then I remembered the Lynard Skynyrd/Nickleback incident, and I left him sleeping in the truck. I walked out of the tent, to the Port-John to take a squirt. When I returned to the tent, Darren was staring at my partner, who was still asleep in the truck. Darren’s eyes were big and crazy; he was furious. He turned to me.
“What the ****, Junior?”
“I’ve been trying to get him up, but he just won’t budge. I’m having to do all this work myself!”
“******* …” Darren said, with a heavy sigh, before pounding on the driver’s side window.
“Andy! Wake the **** up, *******! Junior’s carrying all the weight here!”
Andy did wake up. He glared at me, and I smiled back with a ****-eating grin.
You don’t ever interrupt The Free Bird. I don't care what your name is.

Easter Sunday. My mom dropped me off at my girlfriend’s house early that morning. A couple hours before church. I used the key under the mat and went inside. Ashton had said her parents would be gone that morning and to come wake her up when I got there. So, I went into her room and sat at the edge of the bed. I softly kissed her forehead and she slowly opened her eyes, smiling up at me.
“Hey, baby,” she said, rubbing her eyes.
“Good morning.”
“Let me brush my teeth real quick. I got dragon’s breath over here,” she said, covering her mouth and quickly walking to the bathroom.
“Geez. I can’t believe we’re finally ALONE! I can’t even remember the last time.”
“I think it was around Christmas or something,” I said, stretching out on the bed.
Ashton climbed on top of me, straddling me, for the first time in months. She pressed her mouth to mine, hard, breathing heavily and letting out a big sigh. We kept kissing and things really got heated quickly. I gently ran my tongue across her neck, expecting her to stop me, but she didn’t. Off came her shirt and she reached down into my pants, grabbing every inch of what I had. She bit her bottom lip hard and she had that hungry look in her eyes. Finally, she said, “Come on, put it in.”
“What?”
“Come on, just do it. I need it.”
I knew where she was going and what the outcome would be. It happened every time.
“No. Cause then if we have ***, we’ll go to church later, and you’ll start feeling all ‘bad.’ Because it’s a sin and you think it’s wrong. Then during praise and worship time, you’ll fall to your knees and start crying and I’ll feel like an ******* and … no. I don’t wanna go through all that ****.”
In one quick motion, she unzipped my pants and flopped my ****. Looking up at me, she slowly, very slowly, took it into her mouth. Going up and down. I looked up to the ceiling, my jaw dropped. In the entire five months we had been dating, she had never gone down on me. Never. It was too much; she knew exactly what to do. So then I just put it in. Like she asked me too. And in five minutes, I rolled off and we just lay there, staring at the ceiling.
She propped herself up on her elbows. Smiling big.
“You okay?” I asked, recalling the last time we had ***, and how much she sobbed and cried afterwards. Dripping with spit and tears, all red-faced. She went on about sin and how it was wrong. Cause we weren’t married. I thought it was stupid. I was her boyfriend; after all, there was love there. How could that be bad? This time, on Easter Sunday, she was just smiling in the rays of the sun. Finally, no more Christian guilt on her face.
“I just love you is all.”
And then she kissed me. She got dressed and made breakfast for me. Then we woke up her little brother and sister. It felt like a normal day. I was a regular teenager, having *** with my girlfriend. I wasn’t some repressed celibate, Christian, kid. I felt good, I felt ******* alive. Gettin’ those teenage kicks while the gettin’ was good. But then. At church. Like a prophet from the Old Testament, I had predicted the future. It came time in the service when they did “praise and worship.” Singing songs to God, with their arms up in the air. I used to get all into that, but by this time, punk rock had its mighty hold over me. Every day I just thought about it more and more. Was religion just a mechanism of control? To keep the poor from eating the rich? It seemed like it. So when Ashton fell to her knees and stared cryin’, I just groaned and scowled. I wanted to have a good time, not get some guilt trip for following our natural impulses. A week later was prom. The Senior Prom. I expected it to be like the ******’ movies. Poofy dresses and heels up in the air. Ya’ know, backseats steamin’ up on lover’s lane, above the lights of our town. What did I get? Dropped off before ten o’clock. Right before that, at a park, I had tried to get her to take a walk with me, go somewhere dark and quiet. We were on the swings with her best-friend Jesse and her 'just as friends' date. They were talking about just going home and calling it a night. I began to panic, no, no, no, it couldn't end this way for me. Prom was supposed to be it. My wild night of teenage kicks and high school romance. So I tried to make it happen.
"Hey, let's go take a walk and talk a bit. We haven't really gotten much alone time tonight. Ya know?"
“Yeah, I know. But...if we left them alone...I think it would make Jesse uncomfortable. Her and James went just as friends, she doesn’t want him to get the wrong idea. But we can talk right here. ” She said, with that big, bubbly, smile. I rolled my eyes and played along. It was in that moment, that I had checked out. Yes, ma’am, that was the straw that broke the first love’s back. Had to let her go. God too. I haven’t spoken to him since.

There were many times
When I came close to leaving my wife.
I would take some clothes
and my favorite movies with me
to my parent’s house,
dead set on not going back.
But then she would come over
And talk me out of it.
When it finally happened though
this is how it went down:
It was the Fourth of July
and I was driving home
from my job at a group home for the developmentally disabled,
Fireworks bursting all around me
up in the Arizona sky.
I was caught up in a full-blown panic attack
from the thought of my twelve-hour shift
the next day with no pain pills or any relief
whatsoever.
I have a severe back injury from a car wreck
and that day I had hurt it worse
moving someone from their wheelchair into the shower.
It felt like a railroad spike
had been rammed into the center of my spine.
Driving home
then walking up the stairs to our apartment
I couldn’t stop crying.
I had lost all control.
Walking in the front door,
my wife was cooking and my son crawled on the floor.
I went straight to the bathroom,
Needed to calm down and compose myself,
but I just couldn’t stop crying.
Hell I couldn’t even catch my breath.
My wife walked in.
“What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
“I hurt my back really bad today at work … and I have a twelve-hour shift tomorrow
and no pain pills, no nothing. It just hurts so bad …”
She rolled her big blue eyes and scoffed at me.
“Ugh. That’s no reason to be ******* crying. Quit being a baby.”
Out the door she went with a slam.
THAT was my wife? My true love?
The thought drove me insane.
Growing old with her hateful eyes
always glaring at me.
I ate dinner in silence,
put the baby to bed
and smoked so much ****
I felt nothing
neither physical nor mental.
I couldn’t smoke **** before or at work, however,
I did have morals.
Those people in the group home were my responsibility.
The baby woke up crying around five a.m.
I had to start my shift at eight a.m.
It was the wife’s day off.
“Hey … hey … wake up. Can you get him? Please?”
“Arrgg. No. Just get up with him.” She groaned and rolled back over.
“Please? I gotta be up in two hours.”
“Ugh. NO. It’s my day off.”
“Exactly. You can take a nap with him later. I gotta work twelve hours today.”
“I said NO. I didn’t want a baby in the first place. Remember?”
She said that all the time. It made my blood ******’ boil.
“Then maybe you should’ve kept your ******* legs closed.”
I said
turning away from her, on my side
The baby kept crying,
screaming, now a blood-curdling sound.
The next thing I saw were
flashes
of red, black, and white
as her small, but bony,
rock hard fist
hit the side of my temple.
“YOU ******’ ****,” I screamed
jumping up and out of bed.
Picking the baby up,
he rested his little head on my shoulder,
and finally stopped crying.
I walked the floor,
pacing back and forth,
my back aching,
my head throbbing & pulsating
as the goose-egg lump
swelled.
She sat upright in bed.
Her arms crossed, her icy glare
burning a hole through my head.
She didn’t look the same anymore.
When we met
her eyes were full of good
burning churches
love.
Replaced now with
little saggy *******,
wiry, stringy, mess of hair—
like a Barbie doll left outside too long.
And that face
held so much hate.
My God, that face of hers.
She despised me.
Everything I did and said
just ****** her off.
From the bedroom window
I stood watching the cars
move along down the street,
thinking of it all.
The fights,
all the shiners, lumps, goose-eggs, cuts, and bruises
she had left on me over the past nine months.
When she used to look at me with those
big blue eyes,
there was love, lust, and a future.
Now it was hate, hate, hate
I thought of all this
watching those cars drive down the street
when it suddenly became clear to me,
I could be in one of those cars too.
Driving somewhere, anywhere, far from her.
My son, was my son
I'd always be there for him
and have my time with him.
But her time?
Our time?
It was up.
The switch in my mind was flipped. And broken off.
I kissed my son, put him on the bed and
went into the closet.
Getting my ****.
“No, no, no, no. You can’t leave. You CAN’T.”
She started to panic.
“Watch me. This is it, you hateful *****. Get out of my way.”
She ran behind me,
followed me down the stairs, all the way to the car,
shrieking, screaming continuously,
and slobbering and gasping for air,
throwing herself in my path.
Tears flowed
From her over sized eyes,
now filled with tiny red veins.
“We can go to counseling, we can work it out.”
“I don’t WANT to work it out. I don’t love you anymore.
Now would you get back upstairs? You left the baby all by himself up there.”
She didn’t hear me.
Just kept on trying to convince me.
I managed to get my clothes in the car,
but then she wouldn’t let me
close my door.
“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you. You’re just leaving your child?”
“No. I’m leaving YOU. Now get back upstairs and be a mother.
You’re done being a wife.”
I had to pry her claws off the driver’s side door to leave.
Looking in the rear view
I saw her skinny body running up the stairs
back to our apartment
and the baby.

My first meal as a free man
was an egg & cheese biscuit.
I sat in my parked car
in the parking lot of a park
listening to my iPod
on shuffle.
“Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right” by Bob Dylan
suddenly came on.
I took it as a sign

My mom and I went out
driving around from bar to bar
a lot
looking for my old man.
Usually we’d find him pretty early on
the drive home, with my mom yelling at him
while my four-year-old *** sat in the backseat
having to listen t it all.

Those were the
good nights,
the easy & calm nights.

But this one night
I remember
better than others.
My mom went inside his favorite bar
with me on her hip.
The bartender told her he had just left.
with some blonde lady.
So we sat in the car and waited.
His Harley was parked out front
so we knew he’d be back.
My mom chain-smoked,
sipping at her icy Mountain Dew
from her green metal thermos.

She had fire in her eyes,
gasoline in her veins.
My mom was really gonna let him have it
and that blonde *****, too, she said.

The bar was next door to a 7-11
Two lowlife ******* were
Standing around
They saw my mom and I sitting there,
One of them yelled at her
“Whatcha lookin’ at *****?”
“I ain’t lookin’ at you, shut the **** up.”
My Mom spouted back, flicking her Marlboro.
They didn’t say anything,
Just started walkin’ away.

Out of nowhere though,
the ****-talkin’ lowlife was next to her window.
He reached in and grabbed my mom by the arm.
I was really scared, I remember.
“Whatcha got to say now? Huh *****?”
My mom reached for her pistol
With her free hand
While the lowlife kept
talking, threatening to **** her in front of her son.
Within a matter of seconds
The black 9mm pistol
Was unholstered and shoved into his nose.
His eyes were as wide as they got.
His hands now up in the air,
he was shaking & trembling.
My mom pulled back the hammer,
it made that terrifying click.
His eyes shut tightly when
that sound came.
“I AM a *****. The WRONG ***** to **** with tonight.”
Be cool lady. Becoolladybecool. Don’t shoot, don’t shoot.”
The gun was now pressed into his sunburned, pockmarked, cheek.
“Get the **** away from my car.”
And just like that, off he ran into the darkness.

I had fully expected her to
blow his head off, right there in front of me.
She asked if I was okay.
I nodded yes and she kissed my forehead.
She stood outside the car then
Next to his Harley
Pacing back and forth
Her adrenaline really pumping now,
smoking and drinking soda
from that green metal thermos.

I don’t know how much time passed,
but eventually
a little red car pulled up.
My dad and the blonde got out.
When he saw my mom he sighed and said,
“Ahhh **** me.”
scratching his big biker beard
with his brown hands.
The blonde tried to go into the bar.
My mom blocked her entry saying,
“Uh ah! What the **** were you doing with MY man, *****?!”
The blonde looked to my dad for help.
“Danny?” she cried.
“Rhonda, nothing happened. I just got some coke from her. That’s all, now chill the **** out...”
“*******,” she yelled.
The blonde again tried to go into the bar.
And again my mom stood in the way.
Now the blonde was ******. She screamed in fear & frustration,
“***** get the **** outta my way."
“You ******’ *****,” my mom shrieked,
smashing the green metal thermos to her face.
Then she dropped it
and began throwing wild punches to the blonde’s face and head.
I unbuckled my car seat
and leaned out the window
watching my mom & the blonde
roll around on the ground.
My dad let her get in a few good hits,
then pulled her off.
The blonde’s face was
red, swollen, and bloodied.
My mom wore a lot of rings.
The blonde stumbled to her feet
and finally ran inside.

My parents argued all the way home
The old man stuck to his story,
that it was just a drug deal.
She wasn’t having it.
They told me to go to bed,
but I stayed up
peeking around the corner,
watching them argue.
The old man was too drunk & coked out.
He wasnt making any sense, the **** he was saying.
Finally she got tired of arguing in circles
and just threw a hard right
layed him out on the kitchen floor.
I ran as fast as I could back to my room.
I could hear her say,
"See? You ******' *******! This is what you get!"
as I pulled my Batman blanket up to my chin.
****.
My mom was tougher than Batman.