#derby
She bush-pushed past jammers,
sent bodies spinning like bad coins.
Farm boys waved their caps from the stands,
hoping she’d choose them next
for mercy or violence.
In your dreams, limp-dick!
She would shout,
Molly Magdalene taught her first:
if you’re going to be bad,
live your gimmick.
Juliet listened.
She was Demolisha:
roller derby queen,
brick hips and hair like barbed wire,
lips black as tar,
eyes smoked in coal,
women’s names inked on her ribs and shoulder,
like wounds she chose to keep.
I was just her groupie’s part-time boyfriend,
I was the tool she kept under the seat:
her tire iron,
used in a crisis.
I rode shotgun in her vintage truck
toward Waco,
singing Sinatra off-key
to keep her awake,
scribbling bios for the program:
Queen of Quake! Derby darling of devastation!
Empress of impact, Siren of slam!
"keep at it", she said.
We got to her father’s house
to take the bureau.
Crossed the ashtray living room,
threaded through a cave of trash bags,
yellowed sheets, broken lamps,
into a back bedroom, a hoarder’s shrine
stacked high to nothing.
The heirloom sat buried in the dark,
hard oak, grain heavy as muscle,
the one honest thing in a sour room,
something Juliet respected.
Her father stayed sunk in his chair,
TV glow staining his face,
cigarettes ground into carpet,
nicotine walls dripping beer sweat.
He barely nodded,
muttered bitterness,
as if we weren’t even there.
I knew then-
he had made her a villain
long before Molly Magdalene
polished her into one.
In Baton Rouge, gas station past midnight,
a boy appeared,
a Baby Ruthless shirt stretched across his chest,
skinny arms, John Deere cap.
His mother, pink barbie sweatshirt,
a purse full of pens and candy bars,
watched him hold out
a crumpled receipt to sign.
Juliet bent low,
almost tender,
Then shouted:
In your dreams, limp-dick!
And the boy laughed,
laughed like he’d won a prize,
while his mother burned with fury,
damning her to hell.
**** you, ***** Juliet countered.
Back in the truck
she sipped coffee bitter as ash,
rings rattling on the wheel.
_This,_ she said,
is what lasts.
Not when you’re bad.
When you’re the dirt worst.
Behind us, a past that forged her,
the oak piece rode, ratchet strapped,
to whatever she swung at next.
Aug 24, 2025
Aug 24, 2025 at 8:55 PM UTC
Sway like the wind
Contract your core
Feel it harden
Let out your roar
As you release with intention
Lay her out flat
Juke
With determination
Make the blockers curse
Cause they lost track
Nickel and dime
My currency
As I make
My way back around
Securing our victory
As the venue fills with joyous sound
Jul 8, 2021
Jul 8, 2021 at 3:28 AM UTC
Muddy Earthen Derby Day, whateverhapt... time and chance
and sixty-five to one...
just now we agree means just
now, the moment, mortal or otherwise,
right before now, which is alright
ere vcr betamax was gobbled up by berhishitbvshiftingds
shoveitshiboleth. I'd'me, thenVHS
before, just now, back then
no records, no rerung bells, mere
storytellers familiar spirits of the okeh kind
drunken wanderers bumping into waves of
meaning framing ality in ifity as if
we, you and I, me and thee, we just
the two of us and
words alone between us. What
powers this
May 4, 2019
May 4, 2019 at 7:35 PM UTC