Louisiana, Monday Afternoon

Soul food lunch across the bridge from the airport. One of the chefs is singing. The server tells me to enjoy the show. I ask her if he's singing because the food tastes so good, or does his singing make it taste that way. That's the mystery, she says, Creole soul.

I'm in a heavenly coma driving East toward Monroe. Green grass medians, a certain delicate tree flowering in light purple, roadside shrines accompanied by American flags, sometimes Confederate. The radio station out of Shreveport is good - local R&B and Southern Soul. Feeling pretty good. Double check it, and I still am.

Years ago on a Greyhound in Oklahoma, a girl got on dressed a lot like a Dallas Cowboys' Cheerleader - white short-shorts, white cowboy boots and hat. We became acquainted on the ride, got a room together in Flagstaff where we showered separately and napped together and nothing else.

She told me about her dream, the one the bus was taking her closer to, to move to San Diego and become a pilot. Later, on a postcard, she told me not to keep my light under a bushel.

That light flickered a little bit today, I think, driving Rt 20 across Louisiana, but there was no-one there to see.

Alpha

Oh yeah?
Then I'll slam that fuckin' door shut
Every time you knock or scratch or
Come within the maximum effective range
Of the outer frontiers of my lawn

And another thing, that little bastard living
Off the compost in my kitchen has been served
No more peaceful coexistence, motherfuckers,
We tried that harmonious shit, and now there are
Five of your little bodies lined up on the counter.

There's A Door Needs Closing

Can you accept me as I am?
Mother and son
Wine and weed
Cable channels and video games
A good school system
In a gritty town
With a lot of history
Respite, I guess
A little mercy

FB

I went seeking
and when you seek you often find
and when you find you sometimes bleed

And now I'm bleeding, waiting for my heart
to find its way back to normal or at least something
I can live with