New Mexico, 20/20

I miss the mist in the grapevines, the sunrise behind mountain skyline.
I miss the mess of crushed grapes and the sweet snacks I’d imbibe.
I miss the cool breeze through the house, the haunting nights, snakes and mice
the rattles in the backyard, wine washed evenings alone.
I miss the stars and Milky Way cloud across the sky, the fog where rabbits hide,
The nights when coyotes cried as dusk spread the blanket of night and all I could do was sigh

Cigarettes fogged the house and wine blurred nights spent alone with my guitar and NPR and records.

I miss the fresh air, the valley below, the hawks that would glide, the distant snow.
I miss the lazy days, the grasshoppers dancing on the blades of grass that grew from the orange coarse desert dirt.
I miss the silent nights when I couldn’t hear anything at all, but the sounds of the critters scurryin between my walls.

The deck door slammed with the wind, the porch light turned on for no reason, and I never knew just who could see me.

I miss Roger’s slow draw his long goodbyes his little white lies.
I miss the plant I tried to grow, the bug covered window and prospects of ghosts
I miss the spiders who would greet me when I was ready for bed
Thank you to them for not dropping onto my head.

There ain’t no place like Grandma’s house on the side of a mountain with nothing around. I hope it never falls. Grama I’m comin home just as soon as I’m done here.

Fourth of July

I saw you tonight, America. You, your citizens of color, or no color. I saw your celebration of explosions, your children frightened by the boom of small bombs shot into the air. I saw your traffic. You smell like sulfur and gasoline. I celebrated the music that happens beneath your underbelly, on the rooftop of a bar where I bought drinks with friends and nearly caved in the top balcony while listening to your heartbeat – songs about love, work, and getting away from it all in the transient fog of smoking myself high.
HOW’RE YOU GONNA CELEBRATE WAR TODAY? I PLAN ON EATING MEAT ALL DAY LONG. That’s what she said.
I met her at a bar to drink and eat a hamburger. We took photos. My friend played a chess game at the booth in the opposite corner. A group of regulars corralled around the bar, passed drinks and conversation. Baseball played on the Tvs. Music blared from the jukebox. My table leaned heavily one direction or another, dependant upon who leaned on it. My water gone, I went for Jack on the rocks. GRANPA WOULD DRINK THIS TODAY. I sat in wait for a cummulated 20 minutes at stoplights alone. I bypassed traffic on my bicycle. Your means of transport are foolish. They smell terrible and make things too loud. Engines and horns and screeching breaks, whining breaks, tires peeling pavement. And where, in all this, do we hide?