Turkey on White

 

Turkey on White

 

Bob and his brother were truck drivers, so they were not home much. They lived with their mom, Bob’s girlfriend, and Bob’s son. The latter we called Weird Al because he had very curly hair that he let grow long. We thought that was funny because no one else did it. We also thought he was just sort of weird. He also had very thick glasses. We used to buy pot from Weird Al..................

 

One thanksgiving after all the Turkey was eaten and all that, me and David got together and called Wired Al so we could buy some pot. He told us to come over. When we got there, he invited us into his house, which he never did before. The air was suffocatingly thick with weed and cigarette smoke. We were introduced to everyone; Bob, his brother Tom, Sara their mother (Weird Al’s Grandma) and Amber Bob’s GF. Dave and I took a seat on the couch after a round of handshakes and Al brought us beers. The whole family sat stoned watching the Dallas Cowboys and passed around multiple joints. I gathered from the conversation that Bob had just gotten home a few hours ago from a long run. Between puffs on the joint he was eating a triple layer sandwich with processed Turkey cold-cuts, processed cheese slices, white onions, and lots of mayonnaise. The mayonnaise kept squishing out the back of the sandwich and dripping down his forearm. His gums were bleeding, which left the bitten part outline with deep red. He was talking about how glad he was to be off the road:.........................

 

“Don’t get me wrong I’m glad to have a job, but it’s damn nice to be home. Home sweet home!. (Chomp). Boy this here is one damn good Turkey Sandwich. Damn good. I guess we should have said grace first. Well, I was too damn hungry to pray. (Chomp, Chomp). Why don’t we all go around the room and say what we are thankful for. I know what I’m thankful for, a fine woman, a job, a good truck, and by God the Cowboys are wining!  I’m fucking thankful glad I live in America, where a man is free to work and eat good food, like this here Turkey Sandwich, which I can enjoy any time. Plenty of Turkey Sandwiches and Hellman’s mayo in the U.S.A .”..............................

 

The sandwich was by now a thin slice of white pasty bread stained red with his gum blood. Below him on the paper plate was a large glop of mayo. He leaned to pass me the joint which I thankfully took. God bless the U.S.A. I thought.

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High Plains My love

Stretches into the sky

A terrible dryness on her lips, but still Harbors so many of god’s children Waits breathless for the snow That will melt on her belly And seep into secret caverns So her children don’t thirst My Love Is torn by men With steel in dirty fat peasant hands With dead eyes and guns and fences they bind her The poor, crawling on top of her Sucking My love Will be redeemed On that day.

High Plains My love Stretches into the sky A terrible dryness on her lips, but still Harbors so many of god’s children Waits breathless for the snow That will melt on her belly And seep into secret caverns So her children don’t thirst My Love Is torn by men With steel in dirty fat peasant hands With dead eyes and guns and fences they bind her The poor, crawling on top of her Sucking My love Will be redeemed On that day.

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Variation on a theme in Polyhurt

Variation on a theme in Polyhurt dig into the wet earth to grasp the roots of things lie prostrate belly pushed against the loam sit motionless under the bowl of turning stars these things too, are passing the desert sage and bison antiques the bald elm and the Jerusalem thorn the robs of Christ and the rolled dice passing, these things too and what did you think, young dreamer that your heart was made of stone not likely, not likey it is a murder of paper tigers instead a blessing of unicorns

When you die

When we die, what? What will we show god our IZOD, garbage, mortgage cultural capital happy little picket fence degrees, self obsessed narcissistic striving for that lie that old tired lie "self" fulfillment what will we show her God As she laughs a terrible howl of tornados and hail storms As she throws back her star studded locks and unfurls her eye lashes God As she opens the book of days and marks by our insignificant little life's name A “0” And lets us on as before, moslty un-noticed even by god, who could really care less, down, into a glum hades, among the shades, us too, as always, A shade, a blown ash, forever