On the phone today,
Papa couldn't think of the word 'sponge.'
'Something you squeeze together' he said.
Home just two days from surgery,
Already he has reclaimed his castle.
'Those beds should be replanted,' he frowns.
'Let me see it, I'll fix it,' he insists.

He pauses on the way from
The bedroom to the bathroom
To dance a feeble little jig.
He hasn't changed, heavens no.

Once
he forgets,
complains about how sick his stomach feels,
I wink, tell him 'Maybe
you should lay off the gin, Papa,'
By his jolly laugh
I know he is relieved I haven't noticed

How shaky
How wobbly
How unsteady and unsure he has become,

Since the summer of 1975 when I stubbed my toe--hard--
On the side of the shimmering swimming pool; he
Carried me in his arms to the house, turning
To hide my face from the guests
Who might see me crying.

And since the cloudy day when the short-fused Black Cat
Exploded with a sharp, fierce snap in my hand, and he
Sat with me, telling me stories about the war
(The big war, 'double-u double-u two')
while the icy creek water took away the sting.

But he has changed,
since those early
days when often
I was afraid
but not hurt.
In those days
he was neither,
But now
He is both.

A white silk parachute draped the old
gnarled pecan tree falling
into child-sized hammocks
Soft pockets of safety
Security a womb-shaped sling

Black eyes flashing
Skin luminescent
She flounces out the back door
My famously beautiful aunt
Five Eskimo Pies in her hands
One for each child hanging
Motionless in a soft white cradle
Each reading a book
Or dreaming
On a sultry summer Texas day

Her hand stroked a cheek here
Rocked and swung a hammock there
Tousled this one's hair
Tickled another one
Dropped a kiss on her own child's forehead

Who could know that one day
The famous beauty would fade
Time would pass a grey paint
Brush through her hair
Pull her proud body earthward
Her life winds down now

left for work early
sorry I missed you
here's a mini update

at some point during the night
puppy bridget ate the blinds
apparently the "shredded" look
i'm sure the rental office will be thrilled
to replace them for a
nominal fee

vince came over to show me
his tongue pierce--it looks hot
the piercer told him no beer for two weeks
i'm lovin it

your mom called to ask me what I wanted for my birthday
I told her I was taking up a collection
for my celtic armband
somehow---I don't think
she was overjoyed at the thought
of my getting another tatoo
oh well----
call her when you get up

based on week-end events
at the hospital
this should be an
interesting day at work

one patient got caught with a gun in his room
another wandered off
finally found her
at the post office
probably tried to mail herself somewhere

one enterprising soul snagged a wheel chair
zipped up and down the hallways
trying to run down the nurses

and just think

it's
only
monday

oh well---sleep tight
love ya
me

The Salmon

Few things can conquer the desert
the brittle West Texas town:
A frail collection of mobile homes
Two gas station rest-stops
A wilted hotel

Surrounded by rubble
and thistle shrubs

Pulled from a Greyhound at Texaco
A Mexican is handcuffed
and led to the troopers' bandwagon
His body echoes hard escape:
Jeans and flannel shirt
deaden-toned from dust
A rust corrugated face w/ cactus stubble
And black oil eyes
jilting a stare
at tired seamed sneakers wrapped on his feet
The first catch of the day
Snared from the conquering river
The Border Patrol Trooper
pale and tall in his starched green uniform
hides frustration, knowing
the Mexican will be returned to the sea
Only to swim upstream again

Lay Me Down in the Sand

I knew where we were going as soon as Daddy put the mattress into the back of the pickup. I also knew he had run out of whiskey money. My sisters were always scared, but I never was. Even though we traveled the road together on top of the mattress, they headed to Fort Bragg near Fayetteville, my mind rode the mattress to Wrightsville Beach to let the waves roll over me.

"Git in, hit's time to go," Daddy hollered.

After Daddy piled us on the mattress, he and Mama got up front. Billy, my brother, didn't come with us. Daddy said it wasn't fit for a boy.

We crossed the Black River, passed by White Lake, drove over the Cape Fear River and then through Elizabethtown before the truck finally turned off onto a well-worn dirt road just outside of Fayetteville. Before long the soldiers came. Sometimes they picked my older sister Carrie. She's fifteen and doesn't cry as much as she used to; a few liked her because she still had her baby fat. Every once in a while one of the soldiers picked Mama. I don't know why--she only has rotten nubs for teeth! Others liked Annie since she is the youngest at nine. We stood there stark raving naked as they looked us over. Then it would be time for my mind's eye to take me to the beach and into the water because mostly they picked me.

The soldiers looked awful funny as they stood in line with their britches sticking out in front, poking and elbowing each other. Daddy charged the darkies extra--said it seemed fitting since they ought not be coming to the white folks anyhow.

The soldiers liked me best because my hair is long and blond--the color of corn silk they said. It didn't matter because as soon as one of them crawled onto the tailgate I headed for the water in my mind. I lay there letting the cool waves wash over me until the sun heated the water and I had to move deeper into the breakers to reach the cool. Foam swirled around me and it felt like a bathtub in a magazine or a waterfall in a movie. The rest of the women in the family huddled on a log getting chiggers and ticks while I floated on the calm Atlantic pretending I was somewhere else.

Around two or three o'clock in the morning when Daddy had enough money for his whiskey, he'd turn the beat-up old truck around and take us on the dark drive back home. Carrie's whimpering got on my nerves like it always did. I never told Mama because I knew she would say, "childrun ain't got nerves." Annie slept on my lap. I pretended her hair was the sun-warmed ocean blanketing my legs.

One time Carrie laced Daddy's whiskey with water so it would last longer. He didn't seem to notice at first and we didn't have to ride the mattress as often. But when Daddy figured out his whiskey was watered, we had to make even more trips on the mattress. The only time he let one of us stay at home was when we had the curse except for Annie who didn't need her monthly rags yet. The preacher spoke to Daddy about leaving Billy alone all night, so Daddy brought Billy with us. A few of the soldiers offered for Billy, but Daddy said it wasn't fitting so he made Billy hide in the bushes. Billy peeked through the leaves; after that it didn't take many trips for him to dislike them as much as I did.

Again the preacher complained, this time about us missing church on Sunday. Daddy changed the night of the trips to Friday so we could be rested up in time for Sunday school. One day in late August, Billy told me how I could get Daddy to stop going to the beach. I thought it through and said it wouldn't work, besides Daddy's brothers would help him get back at us. Billy said to think on it some more.

Soon Billy got another idea. He said if I went along with it, we could take the truck and high-tail it for Dillon, South Carolina, and stay with Mama's sister. Aunt Helen never did like Daddy. She liked me cause my hair matched hers. It humored me to think of a brother and sister sneaking off to Dillon, the marriage capital of the south, like two sweethearts or something. I knew Billy could get us there because he was a good driver even though he was only thirteen.

I didn't know what Billy was up to, but he gathered a huge moonshine barrel, a brick and some wire he took off an old mirror. The next time Daddy put the mattress into the bed of the truck and went in to get Mama, Billy put the barrel and wire on top of the mattress. Daddy didn't notice because he was too busy thinking about his whiskey money.

After we reached Fayetteville, we huddled in front of the barrel until Daddy came around to tell us to get down. Billy stood and without a single blink whacked Daddy right over the head with the brick. It didn't take him long to flop over.

"Y'all ought not have done that," Mama said.

We hauled the barrel over to a sandy spot. Billy and me pulled the old man's body over and wired him across the barrel. Billy said he got the idea from one of his friends who liked to rut with goats, We didn't know how much to charge for Daddy, so we charged half of what he got for us. The soldiers weren't as particular as I thought. They didn't see Mama, my sisters and me hiding in the bushes. They seemed to like Daddy just fine.

After a while, Billy decided it was time to go, so he unhitched Daddy from the barrel and crammed him into it. As soon as we left Fayetteville, we rolled it down the bank and pushed it into the Cape Fear River. We watched while Daddy floated toward Wilmington, his arms stuck out of the top of the barrel like two dried-up corn stalks and his hair looked like half-rotted corn silk. If Daddy floated that far, Billy said we would pass over Daddy in Elizabethtown when we crossed the Cape Fear there. The Cape Fear seemed more like a snake than a river, a fitting place for Daddy.

We threw the mattress in at Elizabethtown. I hoped it landed on Daddy but it was too dark to see, the night was blacker than the Black River.

We left the girls and Mama by the back door and took off for Dillon. All Mama did was holler, "y'all ought not have done this. He'll be mad when he gits back from the river." I rolled the truck windows down and kept thinking it should be sea air blowing into the truck. Dillon didn't have any sea air, so I liked to think that it did.

We told Aunt Helen about running off and she was glad for us. She said she'd take us to Calabash, above the border from Myrtle Beach, to eat as soon as it got light. The food at Calabash tasted better than anything a magazine recipe could turn out.

Aunt Helen never went anywhere without rolling up her hair. She rolled it rather neatly as soon as we got up then we took off. The closer we got to the Atlantic the better the air smelled and the better I felt. For once, the truck, instead of my mind's eye, took me to the beach.

Aunt Helen said she knew about the mattress trips to Fayetteville. She said to forget it and keep going. It wasn't far to Calabash and before long the light got brighter than sunshine reflecting off White Lake. I told Aunt Helen that I knew Daddy's brothers would catch up with us. Aunt Helen said forget that too so I did.

We got to Calabash in time to look through the shell shops and walk along the boat landings before Aunt Helen took us to dinner. She decided she would take us on down to Myrtle Beach as soon as we finished eating. Billy and I had never been to Myrtle before. I was so excited I could hardly eat my Brunswick stew, but I calmed down then ate up a storm anyway.

Myrtle beach stretched further than any tobacco field I had ever seen. The green waves rolled in smoother than a new Cadillac ride. Aunt Helen bought bathing suits for us and we stayed in the water all day. She drug me out of the water just before I turned into a fish. We ate fried shrimp for supper then about midnight headed back to Dillon. It was late when we got to Aunt Helen's house. She said to get a good night's sleep and head back home tomorrow since that would be the right thing to do. I should have known we wouldn't be able to stay with her but I didn't.

In the afternoon we headed on back not knowing what to expect other than Mama standing there in the house sweeping or something and our uncles waiting on the back porch for us or getting ready to fetch us.

We drove into the yard about dark. Daddy's brothers sat on the back porch just where I thought they would be.

"Good thang you came back, we'uns was fixin' to git you," one of the uncles yelled at Billy and me.

Carrie and Annie came outside to see us; then they went on up the hill not wanting to be around for the revenge. Daddy came out of the house, glared at us and looked over the truck to see if we had done anything to it. He looked a little like a tractor had plowed right over the top of him but not really like he had any extra thrills along the way.

He went into the barn and came out with another mattress and threw it into the bed of the pickup.

"Git in, you two," Daddy yelled, then pointed to show us the way.
He must have talked his brothers out of doing anything to us because before long we were heading to Fayetteville. I guess Daddy was mad about the whiskey money and all he could think about was getting more. It didn't matter because as soon as we got to Fort Bragg and the tailgate started squeaking, I lay down in the surf and let the waves float the sand from under me.

Moonlight Prayers

"Where were you last night" is playing on the jukebox as I walk into to local smoke- filled bar. The Horseshoe Lounge has long been the place where I come when I need to reflect. I'm not sure if it's the shady atmosphere that helps me escape or the large amount of liquor which allows me to see life from a new perspective.

Joe, the bartender is a man in his late thirties who looks like he's been rode hard and put up wet. In my opinion, he's about one drink away from losing his liver. Joe looks especially bleak tonight with his Spam T-shirt and tight fitting Wranglers with the ironed crease down each leg. I'v never seen his feet but I always envision some faux lizard skinned boots that should have been retired long before he purchased them.

"The usual?" Joe says wiping down the bar in front of me.

"Yeah, only you better make it a double this time." It's customary for me to drown my sorrows with a shot of Jaegermeister and a cold Shiner Bock. Tonight is especially bad. The old lady kicked me out of the house again. She said I wasn't fit to be a dad. Why have I become my old man? The man I despise every day of my life. I know things will be different between Samuel and me eventually, but for now I have to work seven days a week. Why can't my wife see that I love my son?

Joe puts the shots down in front of me and places my beer on one of the infamous shellacked Horseshoe coasters.

"Smokin' tonight?" he says.

"You know me Joe, nobody likes a quitter." This is my typical response to any line of questioning that concerns my health.
I take a deep breath in contemplation of the first shot. As I tilt back, my eyes catch the neon Horseshoe clock flickering on the wall. It buzzes and pops while it struggles to remain in existence. Up and in ya', I say to myself as I feel the burning of the booze all the way down into my middle-aged belly. Life sure hasn't turned out the way I planned. Who'd of thought by the age of thirty-seven I'd have a ten-year old son who hated me as much as I hated my dad when I was ten. After all, I've never laid a hand on my son his entire life. What does he have to complain about? He'll never know what it was like for me.

I was hiding in the open mouth of my Kermit-the-Frog toy-box when I was ten. Upon hearing the low hum of the truck in the drive, I quickly closed the lid of the toy-box and tried to escape within the cocoon the green plastic created for me. Memories of reciting my multiplication tables constantly emerge when I recall the impending doom. The boots scuffed across the slate entryway as my father greeted my mom. 2, 4, 6, 8.... A long silence. She must have told him. He moved like thunder down the hall. 10, 12, 14, 16.... I felt the storm roll by. It was a moment of peace or a moment of terror. I began to cry as I heard the clanking of the drawer handle. I felt as defenseless as a bird about to be entangled in the mouth of a stray cat. The sound of belt buckles clanging like nails falling in a pile. That one minute had a lasting effect. Between sobs I noticed the silence. I felt his presence. He knew where I'd be. I was there often. Kermit's mouth opened. The storm commenced. It felt as if a thousand tiny needles were piercing my skin, like sticking my arm out the window of a fast moving car in a rainstorm, only magnified a thousand times. I always cried during these storms.

Most of the regulars are here tonight. They are pretty good at keeping to themselves. I guess each of them has their own agenda and had enough on their mind without having to converse with each other. This is what I like about the place. No one can assess my faults because we are all failures. I just think the deck was stacked against me from the beginning. After all, I didn't ask for any of this.

The second shot goes down much smoother than the first. The more I drink, the safer I feel. I order another round, and by the time I light up another cigarette, the drinks arrive. Along with the poisons come more feelings of guilt and worthlessness. Joe sits a Cadillac hubcap ashtray in front of me. As I flick my ashes I watch them bury the spent butts in the abyss. I wish I was being buried. Why can't I be a better man? What am I missing?

I remember when all the great sorrows of my life started. My youth had begun to decay just as it was beginning. Overwhelming feelings of guilt still gnaw at my soul when I think back to the day the curse was passed down. The curse of being like my father.

I was playing football with some of my friends in the yard on a heated summer afternoon. I can't remember their names anymore. It's less painful that way or at least that's my excuse. We were all from the same background. We all had well-to-do-families and most of us were looked after by our maids while our socialite mothers spent time volunteering in less fortunate communities. My mom was there for me when I really needed her. We were an unusually happy bunch. I was the only one with family problems but I kept them well hidden under long sleeves and pants.

Everything was fine until the neighborhood bully showed up to ruin our game. He was as irritating as flies at a picnic. He was especially cruel on that day and I was the target of his animosity. Not today I thought. I wasn't going to tolerate another wedgie or comment on my metabolic condition. With all the courage and strength I had, my mind went to work. He was at least a foot taller than me. He had red hair and freckles just like my dad. I began to rage. The moment was mine. Here was my pay-back.

"Wh-We-W-W, " I began to stutter with the profoundness of my ensuing verbal onslaught. "W-Well at least I have a mom and not a maid." At last I'd said it.

Jaws dropped on the faces of the onlookers. A smirk crossed my face as the satisfaction filled my soul. The bully's face turned powder white. His freckles seemed to disappear as he became as limp as overcooked spaghetti. In the silence my eyes remained fixed on him anticipating his next move. In the background I overheard someone whisper something about his mom dying. I hadn't noticed the audience quickly assembling around me.

"Didn't ya' know?" one of them asked with a look of shock on his face.

"Know what?" I said still transfixed on him. "What are you talking about?"

"His mom died two weeks ago," another one chimed in.

My eyes were still fixed on him. In an instant the first tiny tear emerged on his face. My mind begged it not to fall, but it was too late. As it hit the ground, the drop sent out ripples of shock like a drop of water landing in a puddle. As the waves went past me, I fell to my knees. Just as a waterfall starts with a drop of water, this young boy's pain and sorrow was started by my words. I had become evil. It was at this moment that I took on the burden of my father's curse. I didn't have to beat Jeff up; I did irreparable damage in less than ten words.

I've carried this memory for twenty-six years and it haunts me everyday. When I rise in the morning I put it on like the clothes on my back. I will never escape these thoughts.

"Hey Joe! How 'bout another round for the poor fool?" I say as I glance at my watch. Ten past twelve. I'm late. Another night in the shadows. Will she hate me for this too? Another fault to add to her list of my imperfections. I light another cigarette and begin to notice the dense smoke in the lounge beginning to creep in like a fog.

I like the shadows in which I can hide away and lose myself. The drinks are really having their way with me tonight. I am numb. Safety at last.

"Reverend Curson, is that you?" comes a voice from somewhere behind me.

I felt the way I had when Kermit's mouth opened and I was exposed. Please God, let me die.