saltine crackers

v2

saltines the night's a besenji's bark aching to voice the impossible- certainty of the stranger's entrance. stealth in numbers moves through the air, hijacks an amazon package maybe right onto the sofa next to you you can't know. certainty is, at best, fifty percent. so you have to live as if you have it even though you might not like a song you weren't taught as a child, the whole congregation sings so you sing. off key, try to match words with a melody you feel you should recognise but it trips you up you struggle along its convoluted path -like the river path to gramma's car at 3 a.m or the long ride on US92 to ybor city to pick up gramps at the station on his shift end . somewhere along the way there were hot donuts in winter haven,gramps waving from the caboose of the seaboard coastline a fishing pond and cane poles, seventh avenue in ybor and somehow at the end of a counter in the silver ring cafe there was my daddy and gramps sharing a plate of raw oysters . gramps bent foward with a slimy wet tongue looking thing on a saltine cracker. i squirmed backward on the leather seat stool, spun it round, grabbed the cafe con leche gramma said i was old enough to have spit out eeeee wwwwww it looks lke a fat worm! just put a little hot sauce on it gramps laughed you won't feel a thing. daddy laughed, the man behind the counter laughed, the man making the cuban laughed, the men at other tables laughed. i laughed. gramma looked sour said drink your coffee girl. i inhaled deeply, sipped. grabbed a two pack of saltines from the metal caddy on the booth. they felt like communion wafers stale and dry in my mouth.






v1


the night's a besenji's bark

aching to voice the impossible-

certainty of the stranger's entrance.

stealth in numbers moves through

the air, hijacks an amazon package

maybe right onto the sofa next to you

you can't know. certainty is, at best, fifty percent.

so you have to live as if you have it

even though you might not 

like a song you weren't taught

as a child, the whole congregation sings

so you sing. off key, try to match 

 words with a melody

you feel you should 

recognise but it trips

you up  you struggle along 

its convoluted path -convoluted 

as the path  that time

  gramma woke you at 3 a.m to 

take US92 to ybor city

to pick up gramps  at the station 

on his shift end . somewhere along

the way there were hot donuts

in winter haven,gramps waving from

the caboose of the seaboard coastline

a fishing pond and cane poles, the silver ring cafe

in ybor and somehow  there was my daddy

 and gramps sharing a plate

 of raw oysters .gramps 

bent foward with a slimy wet tounge

looking thing on a saltine cracker.

 i squirmed backward on the leather 

seat stool, spun it round,  grabbed

the cafe con leche gramma said i was old enough to have

said eeeee wwwwww it looks lke a fat worm!

 just put a little hot sauce on it

gramps said you won't

 feel a thing. daddy laughed, the man behind

the counter laughed, the man

making the cuban laughed, the men at other

tables laughed. i laughed. gramma looked sour

said drink your coffee girl. i inhaled deeply, sipped.

grabbed a two pack of saltines from the metal caddy
on the booth. ate them like communion wafers
stale and dry in my mouth.