and by the time we order drinks she’s lit two cigarettes.
She says,
(while breathing in smoke from
harbor fires),
Glo-ree days!
Says,
I’m trying to quit.
Exhale.
Did anyone ever tell you, that with your eyes
silver and gold like that, they look like
coins? Like,
I could scoop ‘em out and plunk them in my pocket
and they’d jingle? You should know
that you’re not the first — or, there’s been hundreds
of firsts
who thought they could make
me right.
For example: I sometimes act a little too much
like my daddy. I’ve got wiles
to drive a man wild, and I often use ‘em
to burn.
Sometimes I’m burning, and
I never met a history book that didn’t make me cry.
Sometimes I powder my hair, and
did you know
that I got “collateral damage” tattooed across my inner thigh?
Do you wanna see?
… Slow down, boy!
Have you ever held someone who looked like you? A girl disappeared
from this place, right after we kissed
behind the jukebox — that old dinosaur, that old relic. I was high.
They probably got her bones scattered across Appalachia by now,
and she’s making things grow, or else
she hit-and-run to Hawaii
trying to get away from me as best she can.
God Bless Her, either way. A toast!
And down goes a gulp of
Diet Coke — her lips,
mine.
I wonder sometimes
what museum they’ll put me in.
Once
I wrapped bandages around my chest — up&up —
and it felt kinda good, until I started seeing shades of
mummification. I’m past my peak. There’s no future here. And I thought,
Fossilize me.
What the hell.
Sometimes I act too much like my daddy. I deny the influence of prescription pills. I don’t cut myself-
I just rust.
But I don’t read either.
She takes a bite of a burger,
and breathes out smoke.
Ever been to France? There, they call me
La Liberté éclairant le monde — and I think
that’s beautiful. My accent’s kinda good, huh? My mama got kicked
hard, in the gut before I was born
And maybe that’s why it all turned out the way it did.
Did anyone ever tell you that your eyes, silver and gold,
looks like blood money? You can love me —
believe me, honey, I’m wide open —
but once day these acrylics will stop piercing your hands, and I’ll topple
down, down, into the harbor and she’ll welcome me home.
She’s tasteful.
I’ll sleep.
But until then—
I toss
blood-money bills on the countertop of justice as Liberty
lights another match,
licks out, and
swallows it whole.
But until then — hell, we got time. C’mon, new-moon sucker — let’s light
a fire, pummel
the highway, make the National Parks fear
to god. Let’s end up laughing
on a slab. let’s hit the road.