To Seed

All the door handles are sticky.
We scrape our boot soles across them.
We switch bodies from time to time. For luck.
We shave off our eyebrows and bleach our hair.
We guzzle turpentine mixed with a splash of beer.
We live in the beds of our neighbors' pick-ups,
and if they holler, we kidnap their pets
and let them loose on the far side of the river.
It's all in jest. I mean, sure we wear robes,
and hoods, sure we like a good prank
as much as the next guy. Gal, whatever.
Sure, some of us are women.
Some of us wear stretchy corsets
to support our backs.
Days we spend battling crabgrass, or at least
that's what we call it. Nights we roll burning tires
down the freeway. Just like you, we go to the dentist
and file for divorce and haul the garbage
out to the curb. We don't all recycle, we don't
play board games. Poker perhaps,
especially after payday.
We know how to spread fertilizer
across a driveway. We know how to fasten
a line to a carabiner. We know what happens
when you mix laxatives and fiber.
We know rope. We know chain.
We know all about this train wreck we're hitched to.
Hell, we know where the conductor
goes for breakfast. Same place we all do.
We know where our bread is buttered. We know
it's all going to pot, going to seed.
There's a lot of fear out there, but when we're huddled
around the campfire, one of us strumming
Merle and Willie on the guitar,
none of us are afraid. None of us are going
to be afraid ever again.

Guide to Rational Thinking

A man gets on the train 

wearing shoes made of duct tape

and a straw fedora covered with sequins 

in a pattern of stars and stripes.

Along with his knapsack, he lugs 

a gold painted folding chair

and one of those sticks 

with pincers on the end

for grabbing things. 

He plops down with his stuff,

taking up five seats, 

rummages in his bag

and pulls out a paperback copy

of Dr, Albert Ellis's 

Guide to Rational Thinking 

He spends the rest of the ride

reading it, smiling to himself 

from time to time, 

like he's remembering some

delightful secret

Sweet Creek

I'm on my way to work
with a thermos of coffee
and my lunch in a plastic bag
A kid is standing
on the railing of the bridge
taking pictures of the parked cars.
When he sees me he jumps
onto his skateboard
and wheels away.

The sidewalks are lined
with tents and shelters made of tarps
and advertising banners
One of them, hung upside-down, shows
A row of women in swimsuits
standing in front of sports cars
Furniture scattered here and there
Milk crates, a file cabinet, an office chair
The skeleton of a papasan

A flier taped to the side
of the convenience store
shows a photo of a cat
above the words
My Name is Pizza
My owner is JJ
Help Reunite us

Miles outside the city, the fires rage on
Lionshead, White River, Green Ridge,
Sweet Creek fire 60% contained
Nothing but heat and wind for days

Moon still bright and low
in the morning sky
Crow screams overhead
No rain in sight