before the drive

gotta find my nite time glasses
my funnel and dipstick
tune the phone to someone who cares
and has a car. going south, where
the ripples from the collapsing lehman brothers
won't reach for months. retired and waiting
for god to touch their cell phone number.

you say you know i don't like allusions
to the everyday. i say, yeah, this is why
you speak your way. this is my poem, go away.


that's good weed. i say this with a bit
of margarita in my veins. half a pitcher
with an angel visited by sistah's of the hood.
it was the angel's birthday and i was kinda like
all over her case with the level of mercy
she's giving out. i told her, look, it's not your
fault, you can't save the world one brat at a time.

when it becomes too onesided you have to start
stickin up for yourself cuz don't expect these babies
to do it. and won'tcha bury the guilt with your daughter's ashes
now, bow to time it's falling passage now.

i open the bottom drawer of the desk
the cat jumps inside
i pull a couple of girl scout patches
from the rubble of papers which mark my life.
'registered on time', hard to believe i ever
did anything in the required time. no one much
wanted to join me n the angel's club. just a buncha
dysfunctional anti supermoms trying to connect
our girls to the world. we failed. hers is dead
mine is in working poor maze, merilee's lives
by guilt and nancy's ran off to be a mom or a movie star
it's too early to tell which one. there were others
like kathy's daughter who got busted for pot
and nicole's , who last seen, was a cross between
drama & local slut queen, shay's overweight girl
with hormonal problems, she shaves her face
and carries mace. no one knows where
these girls been, where they goin, no one knowing.

outside the sun goes down. cricket buzz comes up.
inside the whine of guitar hero in lieu of learning
real guitars cuz cartman thinks that's not coo.


we gotta run. angel just called. she's a notary
gonna get this certificate to shoot a gun all legal like
my son's gotta go do what passes for the man thing
in my family's circle. hell, what do i know, could be good
for him. i hope my wifi card works at dads. that or
i'll be writing the book again, without recourse
to actual emails that don't need rereading.
life moves like quicksand.