Rest Stop Sex

Rest Stop Sex

On a long car trip the bladder is in charge of distance.

My bladder started screaming 6 ½ hours after

as I crossed the Texas state line into New Mexico,

the first rest stop was at Anthony NM,

the next rest stop was thirty miles west, near Las Cruces

there was no way I could make it that far

I pulled into the Anthony rest area

I parked, jumped out, ran to the Men’s

there was a line for both urinals, the stall was occupied,  i waited in line

reading the sign that said watch out for snakes,

a two foot space at the bottom of the walls provided fresh air and the occasional snake.

i didn't see any

my turn , the urinal next to the stall that was making creaking noise

like there was a giant inside.

a short small guy came out of the stall closing the door behind him

a four day beard kind of guy

and went to the sink and began combing long greasy hair,

unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth,

smirky grin gazing back at him from the mirror

dusty cowboy boots dirty finger nails

gingham shirt with silver collar points, string tie and a big ass Texas-sized belt buckle

I was still peeing when another guy came out of that stall

wearing a light blue izod shirt, madras bermudas, thick glasses, crew cut blond hair

joe-college from the 50’s on the east coast near Boston or Rehoboth

looking dazed, numb, out of focus, not plumb

walking like he was holding a memory between his butt cheeks

I passed up hand-washing and headed back to my car,

twenty minutes later I was having a breakfast at Mcdonald's in Las Cruces

on University ave, on a tiled patio, looking up at the Organ Mountains

a cup of nearly good coffee, and sausage-egg-biscuit no cheese

clean restrooms, and  uninterrupted time to review, rewind, review again

somehow sex at a roadside rest stop,  just before dawn in a crowded men’s room,

floors still wet from earlier hosing-cleaning, seemed gritty

Maybe it was the setting, the characters, the players, the strangers?

meeting for the first time, last time, only time

melding  body parts in that cramped stall with wet floors,

people coming and going, excitement about getting caught but being careful:

no moaning no cries of pleasure no feeling no emotions no unnecessary touching

just penetration, movement, orgasm, zip up, leave the stall

be unobtrusive no hints, just satisfied grins, ear to ear smiles

straighten your clothes get in your car continue driving east or west

only a visceral memory remains

and it begins to  fade with each mile,  

practice makes familiar, learn the rules

the signs, the signals

the gestures and glances

that say,  “I’m available.”

Conversation Mysteries

i dont really know

the meaning

of others’ words

or the true intent

of my agendas

hidden

even from me

eyes dont lie

but sunglasses mask

narrowing pupils

and wrinkles

around the eyes

that change with content

I cant see you

when you text me

phone me

email me

I risk wrongness

arguing

failure to thrive

loves lost

when I guess

which I mostly must

now

Betrayal at 7

the internal chaos and fear

sometimes

wrought

by the image of betrayal so long ago

permeates in the now,

when reason and trust flee

you were a child that Saturday

just 7 years old

exploring differences at the park

not knowing not suspecting

you would be the topic of show and tell

on Monday

of the fourth week

of the first grade

you wanted so badly to fit in

to belong

to have friends

she was so proud

to raise her hand

to be the first

to tell about her weekend

       your weekend

and for that moment you were the fool

and ran in shame

and terror’

uncontrollably sobbing

buried your face

in the teacher’s dress

the shame and fear are long gone

but the images remain

along with resentment

Chicago Time

one cat ago or maybe two

when I lived in Chicago

and was married to a crazy person

with two crazy children

I used to enjoy sitting outside

reading the trib and drinking local coffee

then Caribou came

followed by Starbucks

and everybody left local

for trendy, with their French bulldogs

on alligator leashes, and their 100 speed

$2500.00 bikes

so local closed

after that I made coffee at home

and sat on my balcony on the fourth floor

and pretended to read the trib

while watching the clouds over the lake

and not listening to the nazi-skinhead-music

that vibrated the walls and windows

after that I moved to Texas

Academic Relief

Today I am practicing not teaching

classes and finals are officially over

next week

I am cleaning my kitchen as it gets dirty

not when I run out of dishes

I’m getting my dryer repaired because I am home and can make an appointment

no more trips to the laundromat with a carload of damp clothes

then doing laundry when there is only one load not 12 loads

and I still have clean clothes to wear

I pruned my bamboo this morning

got my mail before the postman took it back to the post office

am still in my pajamas and slippers

drinking fresh coffee instead of one or even two day old and stale (moldy?)

cooked breakfast instead of fast food

(and washed the dishes)

The pile of unread books and magazines

will begin to disappear

and I look forward to day trips

to the bookstores in town

I have read most of NY Times

the day it comes out

not a week late or a month late

and I brushed the cats

fed the raccoons

and watched the stress leave

Baltimore

I didn’t see Purge

I only read about it

but watching Baltimore burn

reminded me about what I read

and more

scenes from Clockwork Orange

did Anthony predict this present

   Then the future in 1971

when violence reigned?

Idyllicism

I know we had an idyllic past

I’ve learned about it in the movies and on TV

Always Sunny days, and after church going home

Sit down family dinners everybody in their Sunday best

For ham with pineapple, and mashed potatoes with brown gravy

And green beans from the garden

And peach cobbler with handmade ice cream for dessert

Or maybe walk into town

to the town square

spreading our picnic blanket on the lawn

in front of the band-shell

waiting for John Philippe Sousa to arrive

stars and stripes forever

before the first war and maybe back further

but TV showed there were cars already

but medicines like vaccinations, and especially hospitals weren’t like today

death is not so idyllic when it comes at 45

when people died from diseases long gone now

and people went hungry

really only white people went to the park

to hear the volunteers play high school instruments

and have their Sunday picnic

the colored still had signs to tell them where to sit

where to stand, where to go

and after all they had their own part of  town

and those brown folks that worked in the fields

well they couldn’t come to town at all

nothing for them but hard work

no schools, no medicine, no anything

and especially nothing that the town had to pay for

Calvinism runs strong through idyllic America

When Cruzie or Rubiota, Randy, Walken Tall, Perry the killer of coyotes

or others of their ilk

want to take back America I’m afraid they believe in the TV illusions

idyllic-ism overly fond reverence for that which never was

in a time when the poor and the needy were scorned

By people talking about Jesus

do not help others they must help themselves

besides they cost money

acting as if Calvin himself was their minister/preacher

“Pull yourself out of sin

Suffer through hard work

hoard money don’t spend you will be rewarded

only if you qualify, only if you’re white, only if you control who votes

Control and domination will be your reward

Reception Desk

Certain memories hide in dusty corners

unseen unheard until

they suddenly materialize

returning unbidden

summoned by a silent voice or unseen hand

embellished and improved over  time

tailored to our present desires, our needs

A long line of guys

    a mixer/date evening

    pre-paired by  two dorms

expectancy running high

in the lobby of the girls dorm

leaning across the reception desk

  mischievous smile, green eyes, blue button down,

  khaki shorts , penny loafers

“Who are you meeting?”

“…just a sec I’ll call her

and let her know you are waiting.”

Did 30-seconds pass?  did 45?

instantaneous and timeless impossibly together

this briefest of moments lasting more than 50 years

this chance meeting

tempered my excitement

and could not see,  nor remember with clarity

the girl who announced

“I’m here, who is the lucky guy?”

but have often remembered with great detail

and embedded feelings

the girl at the desk

Dystopian Present

Sacred islands ringed by rusted steel, barely covered by flaked disappearing painted

scaffolding, standing like a forest with barren limbs,

empty of leaves, fallen over time

blown into space, like people leaving, boarded windows, parking meters expired

find the airport, the train station, the greyhound station

go to Illinois. Indiana’s steel cities are empty-finished now

Small plies of coke and coal line the roads where services had storefronts

the barber shop is closed  , the windows at the dry cleaners  broken, medical care shuttered

50,000, 24/7, with its own fire department, trucks gone hoses rotting

Its bus system gone closed deserted

a ghost town with mill scale streets and heavy dust

obscuring the world that was

big steel is gone now and little steel struggles

but the children of the corn remain

steadfast in their beliefs of their own righteousness

and worthiness in eyes of their almighty

be like them or you must leave therefore suffer banishment

from the promised land for popcorn

of harsh winters and hot summers

and endless pollution left behind by the mills

but they are surprised, in this age of instant communication

to find  that others across the states don’t agree

that legislation protecting religious  freedom is at best

a painfully obvious attempt to roll back the clock

to our dystopian past

חֵטְא הַעֵגֶּל “The Sin of the Calf”

A shadow named indifference came creeping,

invited to the sacred ground

by a killing and a lie

that trampled the dignity of one

insuring guilt for all, by their silence

complicit in two acts

avarice replacing humanity

the gardener thinking about the next garden

ignoring the work  in front of him

followers agree

blinded by misstatements

praying for playing field victories

Aaron won,

Dignity of the spirit

zero

The Lady and the Thug

The breakfast buffet was set out before sunrise
the regular early crowd was waiting by the door
anxiously waiting the food to arrive
the gentleman in the white coat
who slept on a cushioned lounge chair near the buffet
was, as always the first to arrive

jumping up and down the little sisters, one dressed formally in fashionable black and white,
and the other more seasonal in spring tweeds
raced around trying to be the first in first bowl
stretching from bowl to bowl to see what was best, better
finally settled and down on haunches
the sound of chewing could be heard several feet away

two of the usual stragglers finally showed up
always late but always before the arrival of the sun
the burly thug wearing a mask across his eyes
and the lady in black and white
a flowing black train with two white stripes following
usually ignored each other and ate in separate settings

but that morning the sisters and the old gentleman

ate early and hearty,  consuming  all the food on three tables
leaving only one spot for both the latecomers
these two frequently ate at the same time, and next to each other
but never from the same place
the lady was a delicate eater taking small mouthfuls  and chewing her food

the thug was a gobbler eating with his hands and his mouth,

occasionally leaving the buffet and going to the pond for a drink
then would race back and gobble some more
the different munching styles strongly suggested
eating together, sharing, taking turns, would never work
and the others diners moved away, anticipating tension

first the lady would take a mouthful

the then thug would grab the bowl sticking both hands in to get his food
then the lady would with deliberation bent her head to the bowl
until the thug couldn’t take sharing anymore
and with a sudden action grabbed the bowl in his hands
holding it close to his chest, and away as he ran as fast as could

later when the lady left and regulars came back out

I went looking for the bowl
Around the side of the house
And finally through the gate I saw the errant bowl
In the front yard, in the grass
Empty and licked clean, the thug was nowhere to be seen

What Once Was Clear

what once was clear,

in stark relief, with details

engraved with diamond tipped tools, on a crystal plate

the smile, the colors of your eyes on a cloudy day,

the almost dimple in your left cheek

affect, produce heart pounding,

blood racing, trembling hands,

speechlessness, caring, concern

infatuation

embedded with the image

feelings return with the details when recalling  this image years later,

hand trembling at a gentler pitch,

heart racing  at a slower rate,  respectful of my age,

the color of your eyes were blue, no green, light then, no, dark,

and your hair was tossed by the wind

but was it long or short?

What once was clear is now covered

by loosely woven cloth,

not hiding, but obscuring details, 

that were once so clear

Torture Chamber

Do you love someone?

and in return for devotion and longing, get notified

that you are just friends,  or best friends,

or even best friends forever,

and therefore, banished

to the friendzone

a box canyon,  with thousand foot walls

one tantalizing way in, full of unsaid promises

one way out, crawling on sharp stones,

beware

staying will settle like a boulder on your chest,

leaving will tear at you like raptors talons

until you can’t move,

cant breath

can’t live,

and finally, thinking  you must return to the box or you will die

today, the day of the heart,

are you listening to fables?

that the owner of the trap can’t find anyone

the world is empty

no ‘suitables’ and too many ‘settle fors’,

there is no one,  for them

why won’t they look around,

you say,

to no one

they have chosen to be alone,

blaming the world for not producing

their prefect partner

you also have chosen to be alone,

by being with someone

who has put blinders on their eyes

and you walk

the path of loneliness

together

Fishing from the Bridge

Away from the house,
fast and far,
fishing pole resting on Huffy handlebars,
down the prom to 12th avenue

each block further away from angry voices,
turning right and that much
closer to the bridge
that crossed the Necanicum

closer to snagging a bullhead
to cut up for bait,
to use to catch a sea-run cutthroat
salt water trout

if the tide was coming in

Not Knowing

we abdicated learning  and memory

by walking through the  computer doorway, the window

through the gameboy, iphone, ipad, the desktop , the notebook,

notepad, xbox, smart televisions, why chromosomes

to the internet, the cloud, the cyber universe,

to the other side

donec dementia

“I don’t fucking know,

Just google it.”

Don’t bother me the television is telling me about the world

About life, About death, about taxes, better sex, drugs I need

Drugs I don’t—I don’t have to know anything

I no longer question what is in front of me

I have accepted the piano choosing its own tune

when we abdicated learning and forgot memory

We stopped talking to each other

There was, after all,     no reason

mortuus est, non puto

Mindfulness: Now or Later?

“ I’m going to start 

thinking about mindfulness,

being mindful,minding mindfulness….” 

she said

Language is the bane of mind full ness

an unnecessary encumbrance,

taking time produce thus leaving

this moment, this now, right now

By defining, designating

And talking, about this NOW

we fail to see it leave,

by the back door

I think about my cat

Hungry or not, Comfortable or not

Living unencumbered

In its moment…..

What did I learn ?

Resolutions:

     often empty promises

fleeting ideas

to change ‘those’ behaviors,

which return in a New York minute

      of weakness

Reflections:

    Rigorous honesty

about my behavior, my thinking

How did I do last year?

Was I happy?

    what did I learn?

Can you?

Can you see inside?

Where sensations manifest as words:

light and dark

                loud and soft

                cold and warm

soft and hard

bright and dim

and thus become the other

Can you see outside?

When words transform:

Love to hate

Happy to sad

Joyous to desolate

Love to sadness

Can you feel?

The Cheerful Tortoise

Did the turtles know they had numbers

painted on their backs, with various shades of fingernail polish,

when they were placed in the polished plywood track

that circled the bar, with lanes marked with green paint,

that the turtles ignored?

Every Thursday night, when the taps hardly moved,

in an effort to sell more beer, thus providing a nutritional diversions,

to those desperately studying, those who hadn’t flunked out yet,

hanging on by a thread, in the spring,

to their deferments

It was the that same spring when Lyndon went to war

and after a stirring speech, evoking  the Perdenales

at least three times, revoked the students deferments

from those erstwhile students, who ceased studying on Thursday nights

to become turtle racing aficionados

almost three years later, in the winter, a guy came to have a beer

and watch the turtle races, just killing a few hours,

after a very long day trying to register for the spring quarter

yes he had flunked out, he told the registrar, but three years had passed

and he would be a good student now, the registrar reluctantly accepted his paper work

the bartender asked for his ID, he pulled out a worn military ID card,

all that he had, he had hadn’t been back long enough to get a driver’s license

he looked like the picture on his ID—regulation GI haircut—gaunt tired looking

the bartender looked him over pretty good and finally with grin said

the turtle racing was shut down by the state, and we don’t serve your kind here

The voice of your brother's blood....(Gen 4:10-11)

I wonder
where is the outrage

for the dead  boy in San Antonio?

as I see Berkeley burning

and Ferguson rebuilding, honoring one

I pause to think

about university presidents

laying on the floor of their homes Chanting  “I can’t breath”

about classes being suspended

so students can march across the bridge, to honor one

I wonder

where are the demonstrators? The fire starters, the bottle throwers?

as a  few friends gather

to hold a prayer service

and carry signs about justice for one dead boy

I am amazed

that these three were all killed by police

but two demand national attention

two demand national violence, national headlines, national outrage, and the president

and one’s name is forgotten in a moment

I am sadden

By the unraveling of the fabric of consensus
 threads loosen and become separate,

with no connections to  other strands

until the ground is littered with indifference

(his name was Cameron Redus)

Published  January 2015 Voices de la Luna, San Antonio, Texas   http://www.voicesdelaluna.com/