She kicks me and scratches
my leg with her toe nails.
I finish the flick, clean up,
set the alarm, for her.
She was asleep and dreaming,
maybe. Now she has questions,
I don’t have the answers, or
she won’t take the ones I have,
Or whatever. She’s up now,
won’t sleep, can’t. Who knows.
–
tjq
Out the western window the sun thought
about setting and the whole thing,
the window, the plane, the airstrip,
my red face, glowed something romantic.
You could call it a peachy salmon,
but it probably had more to do with the fumes from our 777
refracting the low light, than any fruity fish.
In the dirt, off the tarmac,
thousands of prairie dogs gathered to welcome us.
Well that’s if you come from the middle west,
maybe you’d rather call them ground hogs, ferrets,
mongooses (geese). Whatever. Thousands of them.
Angelic too, in the gaseous fruity fish light;
little rodent Zorasters.
Maybe it was the Dolly Parton special I watched, twice.
Maybe it was the diet of scotch and scotch. ($5)
I’d thought about a snack pack ($5)
or a fresh Asian ($5)
chicken wrap
but no, for me just scotch,
scotch scotch.
–
tjq
