Archive for the ‘In the South’ Category
My Camaro is sputtering again &
me & dad had to yank the carb, so
I am kicking the back of yr seat
while you get lost downtown
looking for Frankie’s, looking
for Vestavia girls. We are trying
to like Mudhoney this week
because they seem artier
somehow and even if it’s
still Seattle at least it’s
not in the Hit Parader poster books.
There’s a carful of dumbasses &
I kick yr seat some more & you
cuss me for the fifteenth time. At a
stoplight I yank the headrest out and
jam it in backwards. You cuss
me some more.
Before you even put it in, Tad
does too. We drink flat
Mountain Dew & munch
Cool Ranch Doritos. None of us
die on 9/11, most of us will
get divorced, there’s a little
rehab in the future, a little
regret, no visible
it turns out that jammed in
backwards headrests really
lower the resale value
of 1986 Honda Accords.
Mea culpa, mea culpa.
Lost at Sea, Polaroid 600 film & some Smith-Corona bashing, Baton Rouge, like, 2005, man.
In 1993 I was eighteen and starving to death for music and gulping down whatever there was—Metallica, Lucinda Williams, Pearl Jam, the Beatles, Mother Love Bone, anything. I had just started watching live music in Birmingham and had no idea what I really “liked”—I just liked everything. Basically, I wore flannel shirts wrapped around my waist and had swoopy Slater-skater hair and a diamond stud earring in one ear and oh my God I actually drove a Camaro unironically,* and oh yes, I was terrible.
Polaroid 600 film, February 2009, Baton Rouge, La.
This will be in Left of the Dial, July 29, at Light + Glass Gallery.
It’s fifteen years since
we rode that hayride, strode
that stage, since they
cut your hair & fixed your teeth.
When was the last time you talked
to Bill? She’d asked, and
you lied and said, May.
Truth was he wouldn’t
even return your calls anymore, that
big-headed bastard, the
chitlin circuit he’s riding
not even a fraction
of what we’d do in the old days.
So you got the boys together to
head out to California, something
about it always made you feel so good.
And you stood on a corner in Los Angeles
& for the first time in your life
you ain’t the one with the longest hair.
I never knew what was going
thru that head of yours at
any given time but I know
it broke your heart when
those teenagers stomped right on by,
humming Cream & Moby Grape.
I ain’t saying I’m happy because
you’re sad, Man, but maybe our time
has been done & gone, there’s no
reason to be suspicious, minds
just change and so did we.
There’s no going back to the Chisca
for either of us, old buddy.
Signed, Your Friend,