Once upon a time, north of Aberdeen, but
west of Bellingham, home of Death Cab for Cute-
E, there lived a short, buxom lass and a fat,
naïve slob, whose sole purpose was to hold her
back from what she really wanted. A baby.
A family. Normalcy. A quiet life
in the country, free from the urban sprawl, stress
and gray concrete roads of the city. A white
picket fence and a baby blue fastback in
the large garage, just waiting to be driven
at top speeds through the heart of the Midwest. Oh.
Hi. Oh. O – H. I – O. Let’s go Bucks! Patty Smith
sang about it once and so did The Black Keys.
The Pretenders, too. And Astronauts? Oh man…
guaranteed Ohio has more than you in
your state, whatever it’s called. Florida
or Maine or Washington. North Carolina.
Oklahoma. Kansas. Wherever you are
in the United States, Ohio has sent
more folks to orbit. Ha ha ha. Joke’s on you,
Ohio … here’s a question: What’s the furthest
place you can get from corn and empty space?
Space? As in Outer? As in off the planet?
Ha! “Tragedy on the River Ohio?”
It’s called Paul Brown Stadium. Riverfront was
better. I do like the suspension bridge, though.
Glad to see it’s still standing like the one in
San Francisco. The Golden Gate. “Warriors,
come out to plaaay-eee.” Steph Curry is lighting
it up, isn’t he? What is he, 83
percent shooting on open threes? The hoop must
look like a wicker basket built for apples.
Speaking of slim men, during a football game
up in the Apple State, the small, buxom lass
with the enormous gun rack and trunk of sass
abandoned her man to go into the woods
with a fast-talking con man. Eyes beady, he
was willing to give to the needy, and she
needed his stuff badly. She needed love. What
she got was tragedy. When she and BJ
went back by the shack, he yanked her top up and
gazed at her six pack. 38C? Wow-wee!
After that she dropped to her knees and prayed at
the church of Brother Cliffton, whose weight was less
than most men. Beelzebub disguised as man.
The Lord of the Flies. Vermin and maggots. They
don’t come from red meat, do they? They’re spawned. How sick.
It’s like that song by The Pretty Reckless that
goes, “Follow me down to the river. Drink ‘til
the water is clean. Follow me down to the
river tonight. I’ll be down here on my knees.”
She’s praying, right? And she’s inviting you to
be baptized. To have your sins washed away by
water from the source … the earth. Isis. Mother
Nature! Not a terrorist group. My buddy Fallon
said it best when he got on to someone who
posted a picture of a Coke bottle with
that name on it. He set them straight, though. Today
Megh and I stopped into a store in Pritchard,
Alabama off I-10 in old Mobile.
We grabbed two random Cokes. Mine said Robert. Hers
said Krystal. The cashier’s name was Kat. She sold
me a pack of Marlboro Blue Menthol.
When I said, “Should have just asked for a pack of
Newports,” she laughed and told me about holding
them up to a black light. “You can see them,” said
she. “The Krystals, I mean.” They’re white and gold, right?
Me? My skin may be peach, but I’m black and blue.
Battered and beaten. Bruised, but not broken. No.
I am not here to cause a great commotion.
It’s only freedom that I want. Emotion.
Love and good times spent traveling to nations
I’ve never had the joy of visiting. So…
maybe it’s time for me to submit these, eh?
Actual publication may not be far
away. Then again, perhaps it may be. Vince
Van Gogh only sold one painting. Emily
Dickinson sold eight or so. The point is, “What
do you have to say about the world we see?”
Can you Let it Be or not? Choose your answer…