"Sun Dried Town," "Tremor," and "Mercurial Minutes"

Sun Dried Town

They come from underneath the
bridge; at least that’s what
someone said, and I’ve seen
their cardboard condos and
fresh air laundry alight on
the wind.  I get startled
when they pass by my car --
I park near a dumpster.
It belongs to a fast food
restaurant.  The bridge
is fifty feet away.  There’s
always vacancy, no
amenities.  How like the
desert traveler this must be,
you know the one who dies of
thirst just inches away from water.

Tremor

The fine art of full auto body repair
works well under the skin with a laser
sharp and white slicing cells with
calculated precision. The numbers
game between business traffic and
highway memories resurrected by knife
and scalpel slit high in the thigh just
along  the main artery where cars icy,
hot  and cool fly under a benign
radar of risk.  Percentages feed their
definitions of  “how are you?" into
crunches of unanswered questions
where the right lane can do nothing
but exit right and the left still waits
for an answer around the clock.

Mercurial Minutes

The neighbors prepare for the sacrifice
which is quick and painless thanks to
Mr. Bell who probably never knew
he’d be the inventor of insinuation,
the initiator of intrigue and all
the good stuff lapped up in-between.
“Did you see where he parked his truck?”
“Did you hear what she said in the yard?”
The dedication to their sport is admirable
because even moving lips, batting eyes,
glowing ears burn calories.  When
the fat melts away, the burners are stoked
again even in snowstorms, cold
rains or dry thirsty weather -- this
sport can be played all year long
with certain victories leaving opponents
in their wake who never knew
they were playing any game at all.