My parents divorced when I was in 5th grade. I traveled with dad all summer that year because I had nothing better to do. It was the first summer in six years that I wasn’t in little league. It was Monday morning, and before we could hit the highway, he had to take care of his monthly rigmarole inside the post office. There he would send in all his bills, pay the car note, and make the child support payment.

He drove a black on black 87 Deville whose air conditioner seemed to blow carcinogens when it was on. I waited in the car with the window cracked and tried to breathe while he was inside. The parking lot was full, which meant the line inside was long and the road would have to wait.  He was in there for a while; I sat listening to side b of James Brown’s: ‘Say It Loud’.  As he strode back across the parking lot, the instrumental track: ‘I’ll lose my mind’ wafted out the window, temporarily ventilating the heat sealed sounds. He calmly opened the driver’s side door, situating his-self half in/half outside the front seat. He took his time while put his things away in the glove compartment and console.  His left leg was still touching down on the asphalt to keep him steady.

When he was finally ready, and had everything in its right place; he gently closed the door, put on his safety belt, then started the car. He put the car in reverse, and kept his foot on the brake. He turned his head around toward me, his arm stretched across the seat above my royal blue KC cap so he could see behind him. And then, when we were about to back up, the pickup truck parked in front of us quite suddenly jerked into reverse, and leapt back into the chrome bumper of the Caddie.

ding!

My dad turned his head, and put the car in park. As quick as he’d hit us, the guy in the truck leaned over in his seat, and put on a neck-brace. Both my father and I saw this happen. Dad looked at me and put his big, hairy hand on my shoulder.

“You alright buddy?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

And, like liquid, he reached under the seat with one hand, opened the door with the other, got out, and shut the door swiftly. He took two quick steps and met the man inside his own door frame, and in one fast motion he threw a hard right hook that jammed the snub-nose barrel of his hammerless 38 special into the side of the guy’s face, knocking his glasses crooked. The man bleated outta shrill blip of fear/pain/shock/horror before dad had his other arm around his neck. He had the man in a headlock with the gun pressed into his temple. I don’t know what he said; I couldn’t really hear anything after that. Everything got real slow and quiet for a minute. I guess he said the stuff one says when they’ve got a stranger at gunpoint. He waited for the man in the truck to drive off . Dad got in the car and shut the door. He buckled in, backed up, and finally pulled out of the post office parking lot.

His bloodshot eyes bulged behind his steel framed casino glasses. He turned the radio off, and we drove along in silence, aside from the private belligerent commentary that gurgled forth, sputtering from deep within, and continued oozing out from the side of the old man’s dry mouth in a very steady, deep, guttural tone.

She took me out in the hallway to make sure that I was certain I wanted to represent our class in the spelling bee, because she was sure that wouldn’t, and i DIDN’T, but I had to do it, because if I didn’t she would win, so I said that I did, and my mom quizzed me hard every night for hours until the actual day of the  event.

I looked like a jerk in my too tight midnight blue Girbaud’s, braided belt, Genera shirt, and a pair of quarter top Dexters. I wore a lot of Adidas cologne and  so much gel in a hairstyle derivative of Christian Slater’s in the movie Kuffs. What a dick.

My English teacher was one of the main judges. They all took turns reading words and definitions. She just looked like a bitch.

The thing went on forever. My neighbor and I went head to head for the win. He’d spell correctly, then misspell, and then I’d spell and misspell, and so on and on it went. We both wanted to win, but not if it meant that one of us had to lose. I got a lucky break. I spelled imperturbable correct and the final word was LINGERIE. Easy money. I spelled it as loud and sarcastic as I could. I won. My mom was never more proud in her life.

The following Monday they announced that I won the thing on the intercom and all my teachers treated me differently, not special, just different. Most of them had really encouraging things to say, but my English teacher was reluctant to speak with me. That week in English we watched The Outsiders which we just finished reading aloud. All the tough guys laid down on the tile in front of the TV parroting the greaser speak and blurting out cuss words. It was awesome. She interrupted the movie and took me with her out in the hall again, this time to congratulate me. She was reluctant to give me any praise, told me that it surprised her that I won, but that I did a good job.

“I know.” I said.

I probably wore the same clothes to the county spelling bee.  I got eliminated in the first round when I misspelled potatoes.

we humans

drink fat &

stand still

until our circulation stops

& we freeze.

New years

came & went.

We were  in the future

in tin cans

out there

in tundra town

Snow fell in the desert

so i drove like space hunter.

Visual fabric:

moonscape

arroyos

witches hats

landlocked by gravity

led by a starry sky

blanketed, insulated

by instrumental

future cop

tunes.

A kid can dream, can’t he?

I woke up when my alarm went off at 5:45am. That was 2 hours ago. I wanted dearly to call in and crawl back into my cocoon, but good judgement got the better of me this morning. I ate 3 scrambled eggs and drank 1.5 cups of coffee, shaved my face, showered, and dressed. I got to work and clocked in on time today. I checked the schedule. AB corner. I felt relaxed as I put my radio on. I went to the kitchen and made instant oatmeal. The static energy from the styrofoam cup caused a few of the flakes to jump around inside. For a second there I thought it might be bugs, but then I accepted it for what it was. I walked down the hall and into the bathroom, carefully setting my thermos and oatmeal outside the door on one of the water fountains so I could straighten up in front of the mirror. Good enough I guess.

I noticed that it was still dark out and decided to go outside and sit on one of the picnic tables before sitting down in front of the computer. Here I am warming up. I think it’s good practice to designate a document just for stretching. I am working up to finishing a story that I started over a year ago. This is where it starts. I’ve almost got my quiet confidence back after being down for about a year.

I quit writing as much because I was playing music all the time for a year. That is until my band broke up a couple of months ago. I was practicing all the time. I don’t think I ever practiced so much in my life. I miss it, but I am lucky that I have writing to go back to. I haven’t heard from the guys at all since it happened. I have been driving around with all my drum hardware in the trunk of my car. I think about the songs we were doing and though I was conflicted about playing gigs now I wish it were different. I practice when I can. A week and a half ago I almost got caught playing drums, but honesty and modesty prevailed.

I am not the world’s fastest typer, but at least I am accurate. That counts for something. I am accurate and spelling has never been a problem for me either. I bet if I were to utilize spell check right now I would have zero mistakes.

The voice in my head has been extremely critical lately to the point of freezing me out of my own inner world for months. My poetry output has been minimal to say the least and my prose sparse.

I have been haunted. The wall behind my dresser was reverberating loud and for over 30 seconds really early this morning. It woke me up and I moved it a little, what for I don’t know. I went back to sleep until my alarm went off. While I was drinking my coffee, the coffee maker started making this persistent growl in short and long bursts which I believed for a moment might have been a spectre, maybe my father attempting to communicate with me from the other side using morse code. I responded by saying ‘Hi Dad”

pretend to work

A couple of people who like to hear themselves talk are hovering around my desk. The first is an old man that paints everything. He dropped his false teeth earlier this week and yesterday he finally got them fixed. Right now he just keeps rattling off the names of all the restaurants in town that he’s painted over the years. He just keeps going, no matter how much or how little attention I pay him. He doesn’t seem to mind. He doesn’t mind talking crazy about any of his wingnut ideas about all things political and supernatural either. My wife calls this “diarrhea of the mouth.” I wear an earpiece and a radio to communicate with the other security guards and the old man’s strange recitation was interrupted by the other old man talking into my right ear about NOTHING.

It’s early yet, but that does not interfere with social, emotional, and mental disorders one iota. No sir, the freaks do not wait for nightfall. The creepy crawlers don’t always hide. They gravitate towards places like these where they are tolerated and encouraged until their fanaticism gains a confidence all it’s very own.

The weather doesn’t matter, isn’t as important as some feel, although it is a beautiful morning, brisk and sunny. There were way more people than usual at work when I got here this morning.

I am having a lot of body aches. My lower back and my shoulder specifically. The shoulder is nothing new, but the lower back pain is odd for me. I got a remicade infusion the day before yesterday that was long overdue. I waited over six weeks for it this time. I have been on the same frequency(4 wks) and dosage(7 vials) for a few years now. I wanted to try to stretch it out a little longer, but I began having night sweats and fevers about a week ago. I talked to my gastroenterologist about my concerns. He marveled at the fact that my awareness was so in tuned to the symptoms that precipitate a flare up. He also remarked that he had never seen a case with as many skin lesions as me in the beginning and he also said that I had come a long way.

Yellow funeral

They were all smiles mostly. They brought in a bunch of bright yellow balloons in clusters that resembled giant packs of bloated peeps. So all was bright and sunny on such a winter’s day. Such a sad occasion, some little kids funeral, where they rolled in the pretty little white casket with the gold trim on the pedestal of clean green astroturf. The kid was five. I don’t know how he died, but he knew a lot of good church people.

A little girl had a seizure in the parking lot at work. My boss wasn’t there at the time. It was only me, an old lady, and the old man that I’ve mentioned before. He was a prison guard for a while. He grew up on a dairy farm and was in the army. When the girl had the seizure he was first on the scene. He blurted out across the radio for somebody to call 911. He didn’t say why, or what for, or even where he was. He only said to call 911.

I asked him where he was and he said a little girl is choking in the parking lot in front of the children’s building. I was stationed at the desk, so I went out to see if I could help. The old man left almost as soon as I arrived. When I got outside, I could see that the old man did not have it under control, so I dialed 911 and told them what was going on. They gave me instructions about what to do, and I gave them directions for the paramedics as to our location in the parking lot. After that I stayed put and did my best to keep calm.

So the old man, the one with all of the experience, basically sounded the alarm, froze with panic, and then split the scene.

Wednesday is my Monday. I work Saturday mornings and Sunday nights by myself unless there is some kind event like a funeral or graduation for which backup is requested, in which case we have a couple of off duty policemen come in to help out. Most of the time it’s just me though, and I have no formal training or prior cop experience. In fact, it’s just the opposite. I used to do crimes. It’s funny how things work out sometimes. The last person you’d expect to be able to help in a situation often times is the only one who can.

(the next day)

We’re still talking about the incident that occurred five days ago. An hour before I clocked out yesterday I underwent the first in what I foresee as a long, drawn out series of good cop bad cop style inquisitions concerning not the manner in which I acted, being the only one to step up and handle the situation, but an off color remark that I do not remember making to an 18 yr. old rubberneck kid. I guess I said something to him about the way I felt the old man mishandled the whole deal and handed it off to me like a still flaming bag of baby poop. I probably did say it is the thing, and I have no problem admitting that I did, but the way that old cops do things…just drags on and stretches it out. They’ve probably asked everybody except me if I said whatever I said, and if they’d only ask me I’d tell them straight. Yes, I probably said that because I’d just gotten through a bit of intense drama.

No sooner than I’d typed the last sentence, I got called upstairs into my boss’s office for questioning. He told me that I’d let him down because I’d failed to include the details of my co-worker’s negligence in my report, and because I’d displayed a negative attitude while I was conducting security business.I felt awful, too, because he’s only ever called me into his office to praise me for my behavior. He said if he could prove that I’d made a certain comment to one of the day care workers then he would suspend me without pay. Point taken.

USE IT OR LOSE IT.

This keeps spinning in my mind, and what I mean by it, is your head and mine. Like, take that seizure situation for instance. I might have blown my cool a little, and showed my hand to some bit parts, but I did not, in any sense of the thing, lose my head. In fact I kept my head rather well. The old man lost it all. He lost his bearings, marbles, composure, and function of his right mind. My step grandma lost her head, totally. She had no idea where it was. She was suffering from dementia.

My favorite kind of music is instrumental music.

the baby mama parade goes by me fast. Time is passing. The sun is shining. I am sleepy. I have been taking nighttime cough medicine and my dreams have been vivid for the last four mornings. This morning I woke from kissing one of my exes for what seemed like a long time,  and her mother gave me a warning as I reminded her in the dream of sometime that I had gone to her seeking some advice or something late in the night. And we went back to kissing, picking up as we left off in the dream. And the gals walk on by in their workout gear, and maternity best, on their way to and from wherever they’ve been, never knowing where it is they’re going. I am in this arrested state of sleepy medicine head, wondering. I’m starting to realize, the more i get tattooed, that the worst and hardest part of it is in the healing process, dealing with all the various stages of irritation. The Mayan calendar ran out a couple of months ago. I got a tattoo on my right butt cheek of a false prophet carrying a sign that reads; The end is nigh. It hasn’t even begun to heal.

There is only so much you can do, but the trick is to do something as hard as you can everyday. In time it will amount to something.

I have done some writing my whole life and now I know that when I sit down to do it, that is if I sit down to do it…I know how to turn out stuff that makes some sense. When I do it enough I tend to write things that are unique to me, because I write about myself, and I don’t try to tell stories about things that I don’t know anything about… and that i guess is my secret.

Just keep going…

Here in the quiet and in the new

i hear things. I hear birds chirping. These are winter ones, and they are confused. They don’t know which way to go because there are no seasons in south texas. There are seasons, the lines are stretched thin and tend to blur though. My computer gurgles along with my antique heart. An automobile soars sonically past the front stoop of our apartment. Inside…nobody’s home but me.

in circles going

around & round

tight

like a nailgun

through a

spruce skinnylike

a sapling mama say

g’night sleep tight

don’t let the

bedbugs bite

to a son

keep the lite brite

from lightning bug

infrared messages

smeared across a

black t-shirt chest

at some church

in the dark

past

to your head

suddenly

Everything got a lot

more futuristic

        ∞

i have crohn’s disease and i get an expensive dose of  juice

every month.

Patients on this medicine are required to have a colonoscopy once every 3 yrs.

I had my first colonoscopy in 2007.

In January 2010

i went in for my 2nd colonoscopy and

my heart went V-tach

while i was

under, so they pulled me out

because the Dr. got shook.

I was robbed.

It cost me something like $450.00 and they didn’t even finish the job.

I have been postponing the procedure for two yrs, until now, today.

This time it’s costing me a lot more money, but it’s something i gotta do.

I feel really healthy, save a few acute symptoms, but everything’s really swell for the most part.

I haven’t eaten since night before last. My stomach is gurgling. I am calm. All is well.

In four hours I will be on the table, hooked up to i.v. & heart machine ready to fall asleep and have a camera snaked up my ass.  If anything happens, which it probably won’t, i just wanted to tell you how much i love you.

See you on the other side.

w/my back to the world and my nose

in a book

under glass

i was reading

when i heard

the clang clang

and some more noize.

twas only

a geriatric ol’ biddy

who done floored it

in her rendezvous.

stop go full tilt boogie

pedal to the metal

pole jam grammakamikaze

one dozen donuts
were the only casualties