i tear into bookshelves
as if i only eat peaches
to crack my teeth on the pit,

yet you have a dog-eared page

stained with scrawled hearts,
folded and flown across the schoolyard
by a boy walking circles
round a swing set.

yes i picked tulips with you when i was young-
when i never went past eskimo kisses
or knew about roots and ****** falls.

every day i carried needles in my stomach...
i wanted to stitch our skin together.

now you’re landlocked in the rustbelt
counting change all day-
i’d buy you a plane ticket if i didn’t look like saint jude.

i suppose i should
treat you suchlike a sweater
i don’t know whether to fold or hang,

plant seeds in foreign gardens
and carve our initials
when they turn into trees

or scatter your ashes on the throughway,
near a city you’ve never seen.

the big fat bus
with the big fat yellow bootay
soon
began to see
steam billowing
out
from under her
big fat yellow hood.

so trembling,
and idling rough
she pulled into the first stop,
a rough-looking roadhouse
to set a while and cool off.

sidling up next to
a brand new big shiny
new tour bus,
she
rather pleased,
for he,
was a
sweet lookin',
and kinda handsome lookin',
kinda thing,
till he opened his mouth.

reminded immediately
of an old song,
her enamor
did not last long.

"when i need something to help me unwind
i find a six foot baby with a one track mind.
smart guys are nowhere
they make demands
just give me a *****
with talented hands.
i go bar hopping
and they say last call.
i start shopping for a
neaderthal.
i like em big and stupid
i like em big and real dumb.”

ah that Julie Brown…
there’s a girl who knows how to belt ‘em out!

she cast a furtive glance
at Mr. Oh SO Brand New Bus  
the big galoop,
waiting for his load,
when out of that rough
roadhouse spilled,
THE drunkest,
MOST obnoxious,
herd of redneck cowboys,
she had ever seen
or would care to ever
see again.

hootin' and hollerin'
shootin' off their guns,
just narrowly missing
her big fat yellow face.

a shovin' and a punchin'
blood flying here and there,
sounds of a cracking
bone or two.

shaking her bumper gently
from side to side,
quietly eased she,
her way
back on to the throughway.
and off she shot!
into the night!

pedal to the metal!
like a bat out of hell!

another
romantic fantasy disaster
narrowly
averted!

Animal and wet earth cling to you,
wrapped over your shoulders
like that blanket your mother loves.
It makes the hot sugar and grill smoke floating in the sun
all the more inviting.

The chicken barn behind you releases a cacophony
of shuddering wings
and braying clucks.
Your friend’s Rhodes and Cochins ring in your mind
with the warmth of summertime laughter.
You can hear the performers
preparing for the after dark show,
an act of fire and acrobatics that will echo across the fairgrounds.

The woman in front of you hands you a stick
dripping with hot oil and summer freedom.
Freshly fried, it looks exactly like the corn dogs
in your father’s hand
but you know better.
You take a bite too quickly,
you know it’s still too hot to eat,
but the familiar burst of cheddar-mozzarella
soothes the burn.
It’s as gooey as the late evening sun,
thick and viscous,
and you’re glad the booth was moved back from the main throughway.
less foot traffic means maybe you can get another one
Before the sun sets.