Saturday, August 17, 2013

Tire Iron

A Mexican kid
was spinning a tire iron
in the front yard
across the street
(dirty white tank top you’re a floating ghost in oil)
his girl was looking on
but way past him
into the air
where the silence was growing more silent
sucked through a hole in the moment
her lips puckered sour
she sighed
waiting for the tire to turn
and her fate to

The Mexican kid
was slowly trying
to change that tire
his brown muscles straining against the sun
his mind and body in no urgent rush
knowing that
as long as the car
wouldn’t run
she couldn’t go

I saw him stop
sniff the air
his nose puckered sour
she waved her hands
as if to get something
away from her eyes
as if to gesture, "I'm in Distress"
two tan faces looking up into
the empty sun
and I too
smelled smoke in the air
my soul was shriveled and stale
a victim of the same
sun God’s cruel joke  
smoke and smog, smoke and smog
a wild fire raged
not to far off
somewhere in the golden state
of California
angry flames eating trees
in the key of Eb minor
raging in blissful discord
madder than a masturbator with no hands
hotter than a sun burn on the back of the Devil.

I continued to walk
to my car
parked precariously
in my parent’s front yard
watching the action
from across the street
Mexican kid with a tire iron
Mexican girl waiting for a ride
I fished for my keys
in my pant pocket
thought for a second
(scorpions and unicorns dancing in a mirror)
(time like a deflated breast implant)
the Mexican kid’s woman
wasn’t bad
not good
but not so bad
if you were getting down to it
but I wasn’t, at that moment
thinking about
getting down to it
so I shook the thought from my skull
opened the car door
inhaled the sweet aroma
of a California burning
put it in gear
and drove on out of there.

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