Poems
by the unfolding head

Dinner at Mehmet’s

 

was served

on the floor

outside his kitchen

on red carpets

and dusty cushions

with hungry spiders

waiting on every wall

 

it was where I learned

about the custom

of building above

for future generations

 

Mehmet explained

in pidgin English

& pointed

beyond his parked taxi

 

farmland

& unfinished

floors

 

beams exposed

 

cinder blocks

with nothing to do

 

stray pipes

waiting to be plucked

like inherited

body hair

 

his wife served us goat

 

& Mehmet used the utensils

to map out

his roofless monument

to the children

 

 

 

 

Rocket Propelled Rectum

 

Cauliflower couscous

could make

the A bomb blush

 

I stare into the bowl

& remember

every Vietnam war film

I have ever watched

 

fortunately

I don’t need a medic

 

just another beer

& five more minutes

in the sun

 

 

 

Dip

for Don D

 

 

I wonder

if you still

put cigarettes out

on your arm for fun

on balmy spring nights

 

or whether

tattooing your initials

across your entire ribcage

scratched that itch

 

I remember crying

with laughter

screaming

‘FRENCH’

into each other’s faces

 

fifteen years on

I wonder

 

if you still

have a dip

 

& grin

 

teeth wide

behind

protruding lip

 

bits of brown tobacco

waiting to be flicked

away

 

 

 

 

Dent

 

I ran right into Luke Smith

 

Smith

being one of the most common

English surnames

 

it was always likely

to happen

 

I bit the concrete

hard & fast

 

dinner ladies came

 

put one half

of my adult front teeth

in a cup of milk

 

I stared at it

 

there on the headmaster’s coffee table

 

it didn’t hurt

but I could tell

from wincing faces

staring

 

my smile

had changed forever

 

 

 

Cairns

 

where the French girl

shook her breasts at me

 

& an Italian

tore me a new one

over a Swede

 

and I had to pretend

to smoke

just to get a breather

 

& the pelicans

kept their beaks out

 

while dollar sized ants

patrolled the gates

 

& the palm trees

remembered Cook

 

& mud crabs

told us perfect lies

with their pretty

little eyes

 

banana bread hills

filled bamboo pipes

 

sometimes

 

there was a gecko in the fridge

 

always houses on stilts

 

& large ass leaves

swaying

 

to the sounds

of the shoreline

 

 

 

 

Blue Man, Las Vegas Spring 2005

 

We had left

Des Moines

with hangovers

many many

hours prior

 

we smelled

& looked

like shit

 

couple of pups

dying in the desert

 

we took two steps

out of the bus station

& stopped

to look around

 

a tall man

in a powder blue

three piece suit

with a tall

powder blue hat

& cane to match

holding a blue

cocktail

 

took one look

at my friend

and said

with real disgust

‘GODDAMN girl’

 

she turned to me

with tears in her eyes

 

and we walked back inside

 

 

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