Sneaking a Drink w/the Tiki Blonde

I remember leaving in the middle of something
my shoelaces were untied
& my throat was dry.   It may have been Saturday
morning.   I had memorized the way the dog barked
at 2 a.m. on a moonless night.   The sky dark the
pavement still warm.

2.
                                                If I had a gun I
couldn’t wait to use it.
                                                                Blank pages in the
              Jim Nod Variorum,
                                                a picture of the Tupelo surf
hanging from the rear view,
                                                                      empty beer cans
                              rolling around under the seat.

3.
The last day of summer lasted 3 months.

The light squared up between tides.

I was alone in the line-up.   It was always “locals only”
which meant god wasn’t invited.

There was a cloud parked on the horizon.
I thought it looked like an albatross drumstick
marinated in phosphorescent kool-aid.