Things we all hear on our morning commutes, right?

(other passenger, stripper, on cell phone)

"Yeah, seriously? Well, you know, I'm sure they'd rehire you.  They rehired me every single time, and you're better than me."

"Well, even so, go to the other [local strip club franchise] - the one in Dallas.  They won't give you any hassle at all."

"No, that's what I'm telling you.  Even if you go back to ours [Fort Worth franchise], I can't imagine why they wouldn't rehire you.  Yeah. Yeah! You're not getting it. Listen - they rehired me, and I tried to kill the DJ, so ... y'know ... I think you should at least try."

"Yeah, call me and tell me how it goes, or just stop by and see me at [other local strip club]. I'm working tonight and tomorrow."

As Steve Martin said, "Some people have a way ..."

James Lee Burke, poet who takes deep breaths

“Then the sun broke above the crest of the hills and the entire countryside looked soaked in blood, the arroyos deep in shadow, the cones of dead volcanoes stark and biscuit-colored against the sky. I could smell pinion trees, wet sage, woodsmoke, cattle in the pastures, and creek water that had melted from snow. I could smell the way the country probably was when it was only a dream in the mind of God.” 
― James Lee Burke, Jesus Out to Sea

"When I die, you better second line ..." - Kermit Ruffins

Before they were The Who: The High Numbers singing "Ooh Poo Pah Doo"

"i have found what you are like" - e e cummings

i have found what you are like
the rain,

        (Who feathers frightened fields
with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields

easily the pale club of the wind
and swirled justly souls of flower strike

the air in utterable coolness

deeds of green thrilling light
                              with thinned

newfragile yellows

                  lurch and.press

-in the woods
             which
                  stutter
                         and

                            sing

And the coolness of your smile is
stirringofbirds between my arms;but
i should rather than anything
have(almost when hugeness will shut
quietly)almost,
               your kiss

Cafeteria activism?

In the real world, I strongly prefer to focus on activism on issues, rather than parties, but I increasingly wonder: do I have that luxury of "independence" and "ideological purity" when most of what I oppose comes out of one party?  Not just most, but a vast preponderence.  Isn't my preference for not wanting to identify as a Democrat just a pretence?  The people who will dismiss my opinions as "Just another Democrat" or "Just another liberal" do so already when I'm a less-well-defined conglomeration of liberal, independent, moderate, conservative and anarchist.

So, all that means I really should join up.

But no.  I'm also opposed to to what has evolved in our country to a two megalithic party system.  Even our currently active third party, the Tea Party, isn't really independent.  It's kind of a diabolical, half-formed conjoined twin feeding off its much older sibling, the Republican Party, kind of like a horror movie I saw once.

So, no, let me keep my independence and form alliances to deal with issues that interest, concern, and/or scare the shit out of me.

For now, I'll continue to pretend to hold out hope for a day when our political landscape has more than two poles, and more sanity.

"may i feel said he" - e e cummings

may i feel said he
(i'll squeal said she
just once said he)
it's fun said she

(may i touch said he
how much said she
a lot said he)
why not said she

(let's go said he
not too far said she
what's too far said he
where you are said she)

may i stay said he
(which way said she
like this said he
if you kiss said she

may i move said he
is it love said she)
if you're willing said he
(but you're killing said she

but it's life said he
but your wife said she
now said he)
ow said she

(tiptop said he
don't stop said she
oh no said he)
go slow said she

(cccome?said he
ummm said she)
you're divine!said he
(you are Mine said she)

Whorls

Different words
floating out
From different tongues

Swirl in their own eddies
Along divergent vectors

Land gently on the table,

And form the same familiar shapes.

What long ways did we come 'round
to arrive at the same place?

What oddly cobbled paths bring us together
and for what purpose?

Wakin' up with "Ooh Poo Pah Doo"

When asked his favorite song, Rudy Giuliani replied:

"My Baby Just Cares for Me" - Nina Simone (b. today, 1933)

Polaroid Paragraphs #16 - Whatever become o' your cousin Milo?

“Whatever become o' your cousin Milo?”

“You ain’t heard?  I figured your mama would’a said.”

“No, not a thing – do tell. Last I heard he'd gone up to college up somewhere t' Arkansas.”

“He come down with a bad case of poetry while he was there, so they brung him back.”

“Oh, sweet Lord …”

“I know …”

“But they can cure dat now, cain’t they?’

“They tried ev'thin' – even a faith healer up ta Alexandria.”

“Naw.”

“Yessir, two in fact. A brother-sister team - the ones on the tv.”

“Done no good, though?”

“Tragic. Two fellas in wheelchairs got up, but Milo just kept at the poetry, and nary a rhyme in the lot.  The fam'ly talked to a gris-gris wumman ova by Lafayette, but that come to nothin'. I tell you true - in the end, they even tried whiskey.”

“Naw! Though, I hear that sometimes helps in desp'rate cases.”

“That’s what we thought, but his mom’n’em come back and said it only made things worser for him.”

“Faulkner Syndrome?”

“That’s kinda what the doctor figgered, 'cept with poems instead.”

“So …”

“What else could we do?  We took him out by our meme’s old farm~”

“And …?”

“Cousin Berry put him down.  We buried him right there, on the spot, right under that big ol' oak.  I think you know it.  We all useta swing on it as kids. Anyways, we give him a nice little ceremony. His mama planned it out.”

“Oh, f'sure. Miz Emma always had good taste.”

“She brought his seersucker along, just so's he’d look his best.  Didn’t quite fit, so they cut it up the back.”

“Still …”

“Oh, yeah, we done right by him.”

“Y’all’s good folk, I’ve always said that.”

“Thanks, say, I bet them boudins is ready.”  

“Yeah, you rite.  Ring dat bell and hand me 'em tongs!”

"... you believe you are living. Then you read a book ..." - Anais Nin

“You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book… or you take a trip… and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. 

The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness. The second symptom (when hibernating becomes dangerous and might degenerate into death): absence of pleasure. That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. 

Millions live like this (or die like this) without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children. And then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song, and it awakens them and saves them from death. Some never awaken.” 
― Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934

"There is always another story ..." - W. H. Auden

"The More Loving One" - W. H. Auden (b. today, 1907)

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.

Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.

Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.” 

Polaroid Paragraphs #15 - That First Story

The avocado green formica around the sink would’ve looked nice if it weren’t for the cigarette burns all down the edge.  Well, maybe nice if it was twenty years newer or wasn’t chipped all over or actually had places were the finish itself hadn’t got rubbed off by the maids.

Richie took his teaspoon of asthma medicine and brushed his teeth fast to get the taste out of his mouth. He rapped on the bathroom door and yelled to his mom in the shower, “I’m going to sit over by the car until you’re ready!”

He didn’t wait for an answer.  The answer would be either yes or no, but either way he was going out the door.  She wasn’t going to stop her shower just to chase after him.  

He ran past the cigarette half-burned out on the credenza, and the one burned down to the filter on the little table next to the window. They stank the worst when they were down to the filter.

The parking lot reeked of diesel fumes from Santa Fe Drive, all of it drifting toward the bluff right behind the motel.  Santa Fe was the one route into Pueblo from the mesa, and usually the first road people hit on their way from the CF&I.  The road was thick with trucks, sometimes so much that it looked like a convoy, bumper to bumper, belching out black clouds.

It was still better than sitting inside.  Whatever chemicals were in the diesel clouds burned his lungs less than the decades of built-up cigarette smoke inside the motel room.

He dropped down on the curb next to the Johnny’s Olds 88.  Johnny had gone next door to the EZ-Stop while his mom was showering.  Richie would wait on the back side of the car until then. 

He counted the trucks and tried to calculate how many trucks a minute it was.  He imagined himself walking, steady as a metronome, like he always did. A hundred and twenty steps a minute.  He ticked it off in his head as he watched the road, and popped up a finger on his right hand for every semi.  For every handful on his right, he’d pop up a finger on his left.  If he made it all the way through the fingers on his left hand, he’d cock up his right foot and keep going.  Both feet would give him a count of fifty trucks, and he didn’t think it could be more than that, however busy the road was.  By the time his brain got to a hundred and twenty, his hands and feet had gotten to forty seven.  That would be just a little more than one semi every second and a half, which was a lot more than he guessed. 

Johnny came past and was almost to the motel door when he stopped and looked over at Richie.  He eyed the corner of his car that Richie was nearest to. “Hey, kid – do yourself a favor and don’t get anything on the Delmont.  That’s a custom paint job and I don’t want some snotnose fucking it up.”

Johnny always talked like that when they were alone. When his mom was around, though, Johnny was polite and friendly.  He sounded like an English teacher or something then.  His mom never saw the difference and never even heard Richie when he tried to explain.

Johnny popped the motel room door open and yelled in. “Doris!  Hey, baby – we gotta get a move on, sweetie!  Times a wastin’ and money ain’t gonna make itself, like I say.”

Richie didn’t hear what she said.  Johnny had already stepped inside and closed the door.  They didn’t say much, though.  There was a little back and forth, muffled by the wall and the drapes, then silence for a while, then moans.  They did it like five times a day, it seemed.  When the last sound died down, Richie started his clock.  A hundred and twenty beats a minute.  He’d only hit seventy when Johnny poked his head out the door.  “Hey, kid, you stayin’ here or goin’?”

Richie read his face.  All he really wanted to know is what Johnny had already decided. “I get to say?”

“Don’t be a wise-ass, kid. You’re stayin’ here.  Watch cartoons or some shit. We’ll be back in a while.”

Then Johnny turned, “Hey, Doris – Richie says he wants to stay, maybe watch some tv while we’re out.  Sounds okay to me.  I told him to call if something came up.”  He yelled it. Doris had the hair dryer already going.

Ten minutes later, they walked out the motel door and left it cracked.

“We’re going now, baby – be good while we’re gone.” Johnny was making “yadda-yadda” faces behind Doris, but Richie ignored him.

“I left the number for the place on the pad by the phone.  Call me if you need anything.”  Johnny shook his head.  

She walked toward the car door.  Johnny said, “Sorry, babe, I need some extra smokes.”  He was in and out of the door in a flash, then opened her door for her.  He slapped her ass as she stepped to get in.  He gave Richie a little smirk and a wink as he went around to his own door.

Richie was back in the room before they were out of the parking lot.  He checked the pad by the phone and wasn't surprised there wasn't a phone number written down. Maybe she didn't actually write it down or maybe that was Johnny's real reason for going back in.  

Richie turned on the bathroom fan and opened the window to get some fresher air.  Even so, with the two of them smoking, it was like there was already ash and gunk building up in his lungs.  When they walked into the room the first time, it was like people had been smoking in there for a hundred years.  Every inch was browned; every piece of paper felt sticky.  When he put his head on his pillow the first time, it wheezed out an invisible cloud of tar and nicotine.  

The best thing about Johnny’s visits was they made him go outside while they fucked.  Otherwise, she kept him inside, saying it wasn’t safe out there, even though staying inside there was ten times as bad for his asthma as sitting on the curb, and twice as bad as sitting around at home, wherever home happened to be.  

He laid back on the bed, legs dangling down.  He didn’t feel like turning the TV on. He kicked his heels against the box spring.  It was an old bed, and when he kicked it, the insides rattled a little, like a slinky when you stretch it and shake it hard.  

A gate clanked somewhere outside the window. It took him a moment, then he remembered the little chain link area opposite the office.  The vinyl slats blocked off everything but the tops of two vending machines.  He knew his mom and Johnny would be gone for hours.  She told him not to leave the room, but she’d never know.  Nobody would ever know.  Nobody would notice if he went out or stayed in or got swallowed by an earthquake.  The last thought sat him bolt upright.  He grabbed his spiral notebook and a pencil and was out the door in an instant. 

On the other side of the fence, there were the vending machines and two metal tables the awnings had blown off ages ago.  There was a funny picture frame area in the concrete center of the space.  He’d seen it before in a friend’s back yard and knew what it meant  There used to be a swimming pool right there, but it was a tiny one.  More like an in-ground wading pool.

Even with a pool, he couldn’t imagine anyone coming there because they wanted to, but then he was there, so what did that say?  Not only that, there was someone else there – an older girl, maybe two or three years, maybe in the eighth grade.  She was reading, but she glanced up.  She looked down and then back up and waved him over with two fingers.

He didn’t even remember walking over.  She waved and he was there, sitting in the chair opposite hers.  He opened his book to write or draw, or do something with the pencil that hung over his paper, suspended by the hints of red in her hair and the chocolately brown of her eyes.  He was embarrassed just to be thinking those things.  He didn’t know where they came from and he prayed she couldn’t see it on his face.

“Who are you?”

She couldn’t see that, but she was looking at something on his face.

“I’m Richie” like it explained everything, but he didn’t know what else to say. You don’t just read a strange girl your whole life story.  He didn’t even have a life story, though, so just his name was probably the best thing anyway.

“Hi, Richie. I’m Natalie. What are you doing?”

“Ohcrap-ohcrap-ohcrap …” he didn’t say it out loud, but it was plenty loud in his head.  “I was just – I wondered what was back here, so I ... I mean, I didn't know anyone ~”

“Uh-huh.  What are you doing there? On the paper?” Her eyes pointed down at his blank notebook and her eyebrows went up.

“Oh, nothing, I was just …”

She closed up her magazine.  “Are you a writer?”

“I’m … kinda …”

“You’re not very good at this, are you?”

His mouth just hung open. How would she know?  Even if she could read upside down, both pages where blank.

“Talking. You’re not good at talking to people.  Are you a better writer than a talker?”

“I … I’m just shy sometimes.”

“Uh-huh.  What do you write about, Hemingway?”

He had no idea how to answer.  He wrote about stuff, about things happening. He wrote a story where a boy named Carlos went to the fair and rode all the rides and went to the rodeo.  There was a story where a boy ran away to the mountains and then came back after a few days.  

“I wrote a story about a kid going to the fair.  Like that? Is that what you're asking?”

“What happened to him there?”

“He just … he rode rides and went to the rodeo, and had all kinds of food, burgers and hotdogs and desserts and stuff."

She was looking at the gate while he said that, and her eyes swung slowly back to his, with a small smile.  It was a smile he got from grownups sometimes.  What was the word? Condescending.  But not in a mean way, just … like they felt sorry for him about something.  Like there was something big he was missing.  Like they were up on a mountain looking down.

She broke the gaze and opened up her magazine again, just flipping through the pages.

Richie just watched her.  His pencil was in the exact place it was when he sat down.  He wanted her to say something, to acknowledge his presence, but maybe she was done with him and his lack of stories.

“Do you live here … Natalie?”

She shook her head and kept reading.

“Are you visiting?”

She shrugged at that.

“Who else is with you?”

“My dad.”

He started doodling on his page, which got her attention for a moment, before she brought it back to her own page.

He made little boxes and filled them with tiny circles and then shaded some of them in.  He kept doing it.  It was easy.  He could do it for a whole page without paying much attention.  Even though he wasn’t looking at her, his attention was on Natalie, wanting her to say something.  He thought she was beautiful, but he couldn’t say exactly why.  Her hair or her face or her eyes, or something?  The way she sat?  The way she was being quiet?  He knew she could tell he was focused on her, but she didn’t seem like she minded.

He started drawing mountains at the top of his page. Two mountains with shading, then a little valley between with a stream coming down.  That was all he knew to draw, so he did it again, and then a third time.  The page was almost full of boxes with circles and mountains with streams.

“Veronica!”

That made him jump, but not her. She didn’t even twitch.

“Veronica Carmelita! Where are you!? We’re leaving, girl! Get in the car!”

“Yes, sir.”  Her words were gray, like the shading on his mountains.

She folded her magazine slowly and scooted her chair back.

“Your dad?”

She nodded.

“You’re going a long way?”

She nodded, then shrugged. Maybe yes, maybe no.

“You’re not really Natalie?”

“I am sometimes. When I’m by myself.”

She walked slowly.  She paused at his chair.

“Here’s something to write about.”

She bunched up her t-shirt and started lifting.  For the tiniest of moments, he thought she would show him her bra and her breasts. He didn’t know why, but what else does a young boy hope for?

She stopped, though, when her belly was displayed.

It was flat and smooth and ordinary. She had little clumps of freckles scattered around, and a few bruises.  No.  No-no.  She had a lot of bruises.  She turned a little and he could see more freckles. He also saw two long wide strips of red like a belt would make.

“Those ~”

“Shut up. Shh!”

She brought her shirt back down and went straight out the gate and latched it.  In seconds, a car door slammed and gears whined.

Everything Richie could think of doing felt stupid. He wanted to run out and stop the car and jump on her dad, to yell and get other people’s attention.  He wanted lots of angry people running out and doing something to her dad. 

He got up and peeked through the slats woven through the chain link.  There was a really old station wagon just pulling out and heading east out of town.

Richie watched until it was gone, then went back to his seat.

He made slashes through the doodles and flipped to the next page.  

There it was, waiting for a story.

"i will wade out" - e. e. cummings

i will wade out
                        till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
                                       Alive
                                                 with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
                                       in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
                                            Will i complete the mystery
                                            of my flesh
I will rise
               After a thousand years
lipping
flowers
             And set my teeth in the silver of the moon

[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in] - e. e. cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
                                                      i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

What a bar joke looks like before it's funny

Sisyphus walks into a bar and wedges his boulder against the barstool next to his.

"What'll ya have?" asks the barkeep.

"Whiskey, double, neat" he says while struggling to get out of his overcoat.

While his arms are pinned, a priest, a rabbi, and a preacher walk by and accidentally bump his boulder, which rolls back out the door.

He throws his money on the bar, slams the whiskey, and starts to bolt out after it.

He looks at the bartender; the bartender looks at him.  The bartender shrugs; Sisyphus shrugs.

"Fuck it! Two more of the same." He slaps his credit card on the bar.  "Actually ... line 'em up and keep 'em coming."

haiku for innocents

broken baby bells

wring soft tears from deep inside

torrents on the ground

work to the end

the wise ones
said
match the ladder
to the job
so we deepened
our hole,
digging
til the ladder fit.

we finally
emerged
at the end
of the end of days,
then fell back
into our own
custom grave.

"Good Morning New Orleans" - Kermit Ruffins

"When the Saints Go Marchin' In" - Fritzel's New Orleans Jazz Band

predator

Ages of evolution,
years of experience,
and the urgings of appetite
have honed her talents
and made her thus:

She is huntress -
the fear in the eyes of mice,
the quake of fleeing birds,
the slick unwinding of snakes,
the bane of nosy hounds.
She is fierce feline stealth,
danger and death
on quiet, padded feet.

But -
for the time being,

she is the ball of sleep spooled upon my lap

"I'll Fly Away" - Pres Hall Band & Del McCroury Band

"Treme" - Kermit Ruffins live via Jam in the Van

"Hey Pocky-a-Way" - The Meters

"Do Whatcha Wanna" - Rebirth Brass Band

"Second Line Part 1" - Stop Inc

"Go to the Mardi Gras" - Professor Longhair

"Mardi Gras Mambo - The Hawkettes

Wake up! It's Carnival Time! - "Carnival Time" by Al Johnson

"Jock-a-Mo" - Sugar Boy Crawford

Philip Levine, late Poet Laureate, and "What Work Is"

We stand in the rain in a long line
waiting at Ford Highland Park. For work.
You know what work is--if you're
old enough to read this you know what
work is, although you may not do it.
Forget you. This is about waiting,
shifting from one foot to another.
Feeling the light rain falling like mist
into your hair, blurring your vision
until you think you see your own brother
ahead of you, maybe ten places.
You rub your glasses with your fingers,
and of course it's someone else's brother,
narrower across the shoulders than
yours but with the same sad slouch, the grin
that does not hide the stubbornness,
the sad refusal to give in to
rain, to the hours wasted waiting,
to the knowledge that somewhere ahead
a man is waiting who will say, "No,
we're not hiring today," for any
reason he wants. You love your brother,
now suddenly you can hardly stand
the love flooding you for your brother,
who's not beside you or behind or
ahead because he's home trying to
sleep off a miserable night shift
at Cadillac so he can get up
before noon to study his German.
Works eight hours a night so he can sing
Wagner, the opera you hate most,
the worst music ever invented.
How long has it been since you told him
you loved him, held his wide shoulders,
opened your eyes wide and said those words,
and maybe kissed his cheek? You've never
done something so simple, so obvious,
not because you're too young or too dumb,
not because you're jealous or even mean
or incapable of crying in
the presence of another man, no,
just because you don't know what work is. 

haiku

small eyes in the dark

pen moves, words flow down the ink

make a path to light

"Take me to the Mardi Gras' - Paul Simon

Polaroid Paragraph #14 - Between the Gates

“If you had got the flashlight like you said, we wouldn’t have to do this.”

“Shut up. If I had got the flashlight, we would still run across the alley screaming like girls.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yeah-huh! You know it’s true. We could all have spotlights and you would always go ‘Okay, run!’ as soon as we got to the fence, and you’d yell all the way, and practically pee your pants cause the gate was latched.”

“Would not.”

“Would t~ nevermind, geez, Carlos. Stop being a baby.”

That’s how it would go every time we had to cross the alley at night. Carlos always had to complain about something. 

Our big cousin Sylvio came back from two years in reformatory and three months in the Army and had all kinds of scary stories, most of which I’m sure he got from the other kids at the reformatory. He’d get eight or nine beers into him, which was nothing since he was now counted as an adult. Three months in the Army will get you that in our family, even if you snuck in at sixteen and they threw you out before you even made it to seventeen.

Anyway, he’d have some beers, then holler “Hey, come over here you little shits” and all us eight to ten year olds would run over so he could scare the crap out of us with a brand new story.

We still had his last story of the chupacabra in our heads as we huddled at the gate between our abuela’s house and Tia Gloria’s house, with the darkest alley in the world in between.  There weren’t any lights close, and there were thick trees overhead.  Even in a full moon, it was pitch black.  Actually, in a full moon, it felt even blacker, but that’s just kids’ imaginations at work.  We swore that even flashlights would dim a little as we ran across the alley.

“You go first this time, Bobby. I went first last time.”

“Chicken. You can go last then, Carlos.”

“No way, man. I went last the time before that.  I get the middle.  He can eat the two little ones first.”

There was nothing we needed over at Abuela Lucia’s, but we were bored.  Plus, we’d gotten tired of all the borrachos at Tia Gloria’s house, so we were going to put up with the ones at abuela’s house for a while.  At least, when we got to abuela’s house, we’d have a flashlight, if we needed to go back across before the night was over.

First thing first, we had to get across between the yards, and that meant through the alley.  It wouldn’t even do any good to go around the block, because we were out in the country and the one street light was at the far end of the block, with lots of dark to go through.  Better a three second dash than a five minute mission of peril.

I shook my head at Tony and Crystal and said “Ignore him. Nothing’s going to eat you.”

I took their hands and said, “Ready? Tony, open the gate for us.”  He pulled the latch and yanked it open and we burst through the empty space into the black and empty space.  Our feet pounded on the clay and threw up fine dust, but in four or five seconds, we were across.  I huddled Tony and Crystal in front of me and popped the latch on abuela’s gate, and we stumbled through, with Carlos practically running up my back to get in.

When we got over, though, our Uncle Greg had shown up and was causing trouble.  He was already drunker than anyone else, which was an impressive feat in itself, and now was just being loud and rude to everyone.  He did it from a lawn chair, though, because standing was already more than he could do.  Sylvio liked telling us that the monsters in the alley had bit off two fingers from Greg’s hand when he was a kid, but we already knew the real story.  He got them shot off or cut off so he could avoid getting drafted and sent to Vietnam.  Still, Sylvio would say, if we ever felt something brush against us in the dark, it was Greg’s fingers trying to find their way home.  There were times I ran across the alley with my hands covering my pockets, just to keep them out, even though I knew Sylvio was lying.

Greg’s two kids joined us, Luz and Randy.  We wandered around the yard playing catch with a couple of unripe tomatoes we’d taken from the garden. By the time Uncle Rico came over and accused us of wrecking abuela’s garden, we were twice as bored and annoyed there as we had been at tia’s. Plus, Greg was getting louder and drunker.  I’d gotten in trouble before for telling Greg to shut up and leave me alone, and didn’t feel like it again, so I was going back across to tia’s with the flashlight.  They all decided they were going to follow. Nobody wanted to be separated from the magic light.

We got to the gate and Carlos said he wanted to be in front this time and I could be in back.  I told him I didn’t care, as long as I wasn’t around Greg.  I’d walk across by myself, covered in raw hamburger meat if it meant not being near Greg.  He said “Ok, we’ll go across with the light and then you can come … or …” he had what he thought was a brilliant idea.  “… we’ll go across and you’ll shine the light on us. When we get to the other side, you throw us the light, and then we’ll shine it on you and you come across.”

I had to admit that was pretty brilliant.  At least it was smarter than the stupid scramble we’d been doing for years.

So they clustered up and ran across while I shined the flashlight on their backs.  Even though I wondered if maybe it would just make it easier for a monster to grab them, I didn’t say anything.  I wanted to keep the illusion that it was a great idea for just a little longer.

They hit the other gate and popped it open, then they stood on the other side, just inside the edge of the light, waiting for me.

“Remember, toss the light first.”

I drew back and lofted it toward them.  It vanished in the dark and I waited for it to land in Carlos’ hands, but it didn’t.  For half a second, I thought maybe it had been snatched in midair by something.  In that half second, I thought a hundred horrible things.  Then there was a little crash in the bushes next to the gate and I knew I’d thrown it wide.  I laughed at myself, which made the whole thing I was about to do easier.  As Carlos retrieved the flashlight, I got ready to sprint, just as soon as he lit me up.

It was his turn to laugh, though, when he got back to the gate.  He tapped the light in his hand, chuckled, and slammed the gate shut.  He kept laughing as he herded the other kids toward tia’s house.

My blood froze.  There were all kinds of things going on in my head.  I didn’t have to follow them, but I didn’t want to stay on the same side of the alley as Greg, the drunken asshole.  Also, I didn’t want the grownups to start laughing at me for being afraid to do the same thing the other five kids had just done.  There was a big difference, but they didn’t know and wouldn’t care.  And to be laughed at by people who were only half as smart as me when they were sober … I didn’t want that.  I would definitely get in trouble again. Spanked, grounded, everything.

I looked back into the alley, and everything I saw was blackness.  For all I knew, nothing was there – not nothing dangerous, just nothing.  No things. I could step out into the space, and just fall forever.  

The hint of light from abuela’s didn’t reach far into the alley, not more than a foot past the wall.  I thought about giving my eyes time to adjust to the dark, but how long does it take to adjust to absolutely nothing?

I’d seen the alley from that spot a hundred times, but it looked new and strange for some reason.  That scared me a little and reassured me a little.  Maybe it was nothing – in a good way.  Maybe it was everything bad.  Maybe I’d been scared for no reason.  Maybe I’d never ever been scared enough.  Maybe I was supposed to stack all those scares on top of each other and that would be enough for this time.  I couldn’t think about that too much, though, because if I did, I’d start wheezing and I didn’t have any asthma medicine with me, and things would just get a lot worse without anything at all happening.

I looked back toward the house.  I still didn’t want to stay there, especially at that point. I was too keyed up to behave.  I’d get in a lot of trouble, none of which I completely deserved.  So .. I’d go. First, I’d go back inside and pee, and then I’d go.  I latched the gate back.  Maybe when I came back, Carlos would be waiting on the other side with the flash.

When I got back, abuela’s gate was off its latch, but only open a few inches.  Still I was wary. Anything could have crept in and be waiting for me.  I gave myself space near the gate.  The other gate was still closed.  Carlos was going to play his game to the end.  I backed up.  I’d give myself a running start, and maybe manage to yank the gate closed behind me.  

Eight feet back, I started my run. My fingers went up and out but just missed the gate as I flew by. I hesitated for a fraction of a second, but didn’t stop.  I was half way across when something caught my left foot and I crashed down on my elbows and face.  Even so, I managed to keep the other foot on the ground, bent forward on its toes. I couldn’t shake my other foot loose, though.  I shook and shook, and finally it slipped free.  I wasn’t crying, but I was making gurgling baby sounds and I hated that as much as I hated whatever had me in its grip.

I rolled then scrambled the rest of the way to the gate, popped it, and rolled inside.  I kicked it closed behind me.  I just laid there panting for a moment, and trying to wipe the dirt and snot off my face.  The other kids came up to see.  They all looked terrified.  Carlos’ terror was the "what am I about to get in trouble for" kind. The others' terror had to do with monsters.

Luz ran into the house and brought me back paper towels for my face and my skinned palms and elbows. I wiped just enough to make things hurt more, then gathered myself up to go to the bathroom. 

That’s when I noticed my left shoe was completely untied.  I thought about it.  That’s probably what caught me. The shoelace caught on something, or I just stepped on it, more likely, and stayed stepping on it with my other foot, given how I’d tumbled. That made complete sense.

I felt better and worse.  I felt a whole different kind of stupid.  I didn’t say anything, though.  My nose was still full of snot.

I reached over to tie my shoe lace and they all seemed to relax. They had the same realization I'd had. Just a shoelace. 

I pulled up my sock, tugged a couple of times at the back of the shoe, then tied it. Tight. Double knotted it.

Next, I told them all to go away and leave me alone and that I was sick of them hanging around me and I just wanted some peace and quiet away from stupid annoying brats and why are they still standing around staring at me and if they didn't go away they'd get a dirt clod in the face.  After a moment, they all staggered off and I got up.

I walked toward the house. Even though that shoe was tied really tight and double knotted, it flapped as I walked.  I promised myself that I wasn’t going to cry until I looked at the shoe indoors, but when I had reached down to tie it, I felt slashes, like something with razor claws had grabbed at it.  Not just grabbed at it, actually, but really grabbed it, though it somehow didn’t manage to keep hold of the shoe.

I could only go so far, though, step-flap - step-flap - step-flap, before I started crying again.  I looked down at the ground and even though everything was blurry, I saw just the faintest red print coming off the heel and onto the sidewalk.  Then I ran and cried.

I never told the grownups, but I did tell the other kids, and from that day on, none of us crossed the alley in the dark, alone or in a group, with or without a flashlight or a dozen.

  

Before You

Before you sat

      Before you sang into me

            The beer, some bread and cheese,

The light coming low at evening

Making words from clay, word by word

Walking til the silence had matured

Soft moments of connection

           

All were just enough

After you

Cheese and bread and sweets, beer and wine

Subtle, familiar gold, streaming in from the West

Words laid in rows, rows into trays

Walking through the quiet, into fresh words

Entwined in rocking delight in the other

All are more than enough.