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Slugs, Tomatohearts, the Banister to the Blue Ketchikan House Next Door--from the Alaska Poems

6/10/2013

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Bill R called for me to drive the truck back with the boats no longer attached through the patches of salmon berries surrounding the dirty road, berries all over the side of the road.  I stopped several times to stuff my face.  I’ve heard of some smashing berries on a slice of bread smothered with peanut butter.  Or berry filling for pies.  I heard about pies too.

            Yet should I get the six-roll or eight?  Well the eight’s more, though just slightly.  And the six will last for a while.  I’m sure the six would do just fine.  The six shall do just fine.  Back to Harlem now.

            The woman in the motorchair in front of me says she’s a Capricorn.  She doesn’t say that to me.  That other woman dancing in her chair had the Jesus is My Boss bumper sticker.  Had Jesus in my bones somewhere way back when myself.

            “How you doin?”

            “Good.  How about you?”

            “Good thank you.  Is this all?”

            “Yes.”

            “Do you have a membership card?”

            “No ma’am.”

            “Oh, ma’am.”

            “Sorry.”

            “I’m just kidding.”

            Then I dumped my coffee.

           “Hey papi, I want to talk to you.”

            “What?”

            “Mire, walk with me.”

            “What man?”

            “I want to talk to you, papi.”

            “What?”

            “I want to get something to et.”

            “What?”

            “To et.”

            “To what?”

            Hand to mouth miming: “To et.  ET.”

            “To eat.”

            “To et.”

            “Here, man, here’s the change I got from buying my toilet paper.”

            “Thank you papi.”

            I stepped up the steps and groceries stood before me.  I walked up two flights and the woman with her cart said hello and said those are her groceries down there.  I offer to go back and help her out if she’d like but she says no thank you but I appreciate your offer.  She smiled, and I guessed she was going back for them. 

            Salmon berries filled this road and looked like fat-little-nipple-bloomed flowers.   Open the door and shut up cat.  The cat looks up.  Shut up cat, you’re a fool cat, a damn fool cat.  Gnaow.  Yes cat, pero el gato quiere ser solo gato y todo gato es gato, as the cat wants to intend but Descartes said you can’t talk cat so don’t.  I’m better than the cat. I think.

              Remember Alaska? Bill R left fifty bucks on the seat for me because I drove back his truck.  They went to an island to build a house.  I left to go home.  I can smoke a cigarette atop my building in Harlem and I can see Empire State glowing blue and I can see the Chrysler too and sometimes I almost see the sun set but mostly I see the clouds pink and sometimes the air stinks and the train growls when I try to sleep yes the trains growl and they choo chaos when I try to sleep days.  Well the berries were a spring thing and this is winter mostly.  A frost blanket on those mountains jutting from ocean now, berries long since dead.  That’s depressing as one year can be.  I unwrap the first roll stuff the others behind the seat.  Chrysler has gargoyles?    

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    Chaley Chastitellez

    Annals of Aztec demigods, Chican@s more Dedalusians in slouches, Quetzalcoatls in jumpsuits.

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