The Kummbackid
I have been shucked, I shutter, clutchin
the dried up, empty thins of my husk. Crunches.
Cue horns, slow an’croonin. Snake rattles.
Enter Tallbooted Stranger, furrier an’more
fullmooned than I ever knew. Shot me
from behind. The backs of my knees fold
like paper cranes, an’blurred warm colors
bleed over my eyes; think Rothko, think
Saint Valentine’s Day Massa-cree.
My hat falls in front of my face, a bird
of broken wing an’shiny teeth. Bangs
cling to my hot brow like paint an’Bang!
stills in my ear, the whole hollow desert
to hear. So ends the dry spell. Tallboots
blows smoke, says, I gotya, sees a bullzeye,
asks what I’m doin Tuesday. Nothin, I think.
When yer lookin at someone spurz-eyeview,
things tend to change. He’s a wolf, a guy
of marlboro an’texas toast, meat an’bones,
a smirk like every goddam marshmallow
in a bowl of lucky charms. Before he turns,
I draw. Reach fer the skyline, says I.
Doya know who I am. I aint seen such
ca-honays since godnose. An’jus fer the record,
I aint never cried, heels in dust, waitin done did,
I’m the mutherfuckin kummbackid.
