The Bookstore

Taxis to Nowhere

I have to go! I have to go where I feel most happy & right now here isn’t it. IT
is __ (depending on his fixation, IT could be Italy, Florida, California
to name a few). He staggered into the taxi & gave me a reassuring wink with one
of his black eyes. We watched him clutch a brown paper bag so taut I couldn’t
help but think of Linus & his blue blanket. Funny, he was cast as Charlie Brown
in his eighth-grade school play. He reached down to scratch his left ankle
bloated with a sandwich bag of secret Sweetarts. I knew he was checking to make
sure it was still there. I’m alright! I won’t do anything stupid. Believe me. As
the taxi sped off for the third time in two days, we turned toward the house
like zombies.

Chicken Soup

For Erik

his girlfriend dropped him / on a whim / he sat still on his SMA Natas / defying
the wheels underneath / Belgian blocks bordered his sweaty back / he stomped on
his wet reflection with his left Madrid Fly / tears filled the cracks in the
mirror / the pluviophile in me welcomed the precipitation / I sat close to him &
shared the puddle / socks on the grass / we waded together / savoring the salty
rain on our lips / it tasted just right / I stirred his back with my hand /
sister-like / always sister-like / he rested his head on my shoulder / he was
seventeen then going on seven / warm in my chicken soup.

Go-Go Boots

You sat white-lipped, pearl-shimmer clouds
below lightning bolted eyebrows.
Twiggy thin, legs crossed in a provocative
pretzel twist with a White Russian in your grip.

Mod fringe, aloof & innocent, you had no
idea who the man was sitting to your right.
I can’t think of his name now; was it Emile?
You asked as if I’d know; you were

an antelope in his eyes, fixed & hunted,
but you wore the boots, black Go-Go boots,
a follower of Zod, feminine mystique aplomb;
your second-wave head turned to face the camera,

undaunted. I can’t get over those boots;
they reached your thighs. No wonder the guys
sat neglected to your right . Oh! The parties
you attended. I think the phrase

wearing a lampshade was conceived at this one
when dad felt the mosquito sting off Cam Ranh Bay’s
waterways, boots wet in Asian sand as black
& formidable as the Go-Go in your boots,

twisted by the man to your right; he read
your letter & tore the photo. In 1971, it flew back
with him in fragments & all that remains is a
patched-up Kodak with your left boot missing –

the man to your right was saved; my dad was a hero.