The powder packed in bullets

has settled in our cereal.

There’s popping and there’s crunching

and milk to wash it down.

Sorry, but

having kids

and loving you,

chips,

is like coming late

and pulling the leg

of the nearest wild dog.

You should see him

when he snarls.

Herod on his heels

and a cold desert wind.

What a dream won’t bring.

SAID OF MARY AT MASS

She knew no more than we.

wouldn’t drag his ass.

He’d fly high and tight

and swift in the sun.

On you I lean

O gas-o-line.

We ran out together once,

remember?

Just out of town,

the road stretching before us.

I never saw it coming,

your vanishing

and pulling up later

in another man’s car.

We steer by looking back.

at the station

with our swerving,

intersecting lines

It will be over

before you know it

Ice

water

steam

Hot damn!