Tuesday, June 22, 2010

We are 30 year old men riding bicycles
to get cigarettes.
The silence is broken when he asks about her.

Sometimes I have to be reminded of my obsessions.

He asks me if I asked her out.
Should I?
No, he says, it’s weird.
She can make everything look artistic,
sensual. Cutting lemons?
You’re a pervert he says.
An old woman yells furiously at us for taking up the side walk.
We yell obscenities back.
Now we are 30 year old men who ride bicycles and abuse the elderly.

Sometimes I have to be reminded of my obsessions.

We don’t smoke.
I know we are going to get cigarettes.
But there are 20 cigarettes per pack
This is much cheaper than food.
He tells me she looks ten years my junior.
I think she is.
Does it sound better to explain it this way or
ten years her senior?
Stop thinking he says.
What?
Don’t ask her out.
Who? Oh, okay, yeah it’s weird you’re right.

Sometimes I have to be reminded of my obsessions.

Don’t do it.
Don’t worry, I won’t.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Somewhere in New Mexico

Somewhere in New Mexico a lonely Samba sits.
My favorite shoes are Sambas.
I've had them so long. So very long.
But somewhere in New Mexico a lonely Samba sits.
The left Samba kneels next to my door.
It whimpers now and then.
Don’t know what happened.
Too busy fleeing a scene, or too hung-over to pack right.
Either way, one fell out while camping, and now sits,
pointed west.

Friday, June 18, 2010

When I was a kid

When I was a kid


I use to think the rolling hills


were hibernating monsters


ready to wake at any moment


with wicked alluvial talons


lethargically rising


shaking off granite sleep


stumbling-roaring


gaining momentum


hungrily chasing


our furiously fleeing


red minivan