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1. OLD PECK
It's been some time since we've seen Old Peck
and people are starting to wonder
about whether he's even alive anymore,
it's been six days since he stopped by the store,
and weeks since he called on his favorite whore
for to spend all his ill-gotten plunder.
It's been some time since we've seen Old Peck
though we can't really say that we're bothered,
since he tended to smell like stale grease and beer,
and he'd probably not bathed for the last several years,
livin' out in the woods with the bears and the deers
and that dim bastard boy that he fathered.
It's been some time since we've seen Old Peck,
and we really should do something, maybe,
like round up the dogs and go trudge through the trees,
just to check to see whether he's well or diseased
or been eaten by wolves or sucked dry by his fleas,
or just killed by his favorite whore's baby.
It's been some time since we've seen Old Peck,
well, at least since we've seen him still breathing:
looked to me like he choked on a cracked chicken bone
sitting down in his ramshackle tarpaper home.
When we found him, though, he was not there all alone:
that poor kid of his sat by him, grieving.
It's been some time since we've seen Old Peck,
it's been six months now since he was buried.
His boy stood there, crying, alone by the grave
'til the orphanage folks came and took him away.
And his whore? Well, she had a new client that day:
I hear tell that they've since gotten married.
2. JULIZAB ALLERS
Miss Julizab Allers will live on forever
in dishes and beakers in researchers' labs.
Her cells are immortal, they're healthy and fertile,
in shimmering clusters they crawl 'cross their slabs.
Aggressively spreading, they're just like the cancer
from which they were cultured. As Julizab died
from lesions and tumors, the doctors spread rumors
of soft tissue samples which she could provide.
So instead of a patient, who might be reluctant,
the doctors could test their new cures on her cells,
they could treat them and kill them, make them lie still, then
grow more for the next batch of research as well.
Poor Julizab Allers was buried a pauper,
her grave dug and filled without marker or stone,
while her cells spread and flourished, exquisitely nourished
by wealthy old doctors who she'd never known.
Do we pity her plight? Do we take up her cause?
Are her friends and her family aware she's alive
in those beakers and dishes? Were those her wishes?
That she would die, while her cancer survived?
3. PORTER BRITTANY
What's your game, Porter Brittany?
Who are you trying to fool?
In your cowboy boots and your preacherman suits,
as you sit by the Palms Motel pool?
What's your game, Porter Brittany?
Who are you trying to con?
There's no money 'round this ol' one-pony town,
so just what are you here working on?
What's your game, Porter Brittany?
What are you trying to steal?
You've been acting nice to the old Widow Bryce,
can't she see that you're slick as an eel?
What's your game, Porter Brittany?
Who do you think that you are?
Let's make one thing clear: I'm the law around here,
now just get in the back of the car.
What's your game, Porter Brittany?
What are you gonna do next?
I'll keep you here, son, in a cell made for one,
'til you finally come clean and confess.
What's your game, Porter Brittany?
Why did you just disappear?
Only to be found in some West Texas town,
what are you doing buried out here?
4. WALKER COTTON
Shrimp boat puttin' out t' sea long before the dawn
Diesel fuel and fishin' nets long before the dawn
Walker Cotton's gotta fish before the shrimps are gone
Drop the nets and let 'em drag, he's puttin' out t' sea
Sun come up off to the east, he's puttin' out t' sea
Walker Cotton chaws a plug, spits off t' the lee
Down the river roun' the bend an' watchin' out for mud
Catch the tide and pass the bridge an' watch out for the mud
Walker Cotton's overalls are stained with dirt and blood
Pull the nets in, swing 'em round and drop 'em on the deck
Nets all wrigglin' with the shrimps all hoppin' on the deck
Loose and floppin' just like Dewey Varney's broken neck
Gotta put them shrimps away and chill 'em down all nice
Gotta get them shrimps put 'way to chill 'em down all nice
Walker Cotton starts a' diggin' Dewey from the ice
A braid of rope all 'round his waist, an anchor at the end
A loop of rope 'round both his legs, an anchor at the end
Walker Cotton's gone and killed his one and only friend
Dewey's wife's the only one who might been keepin' tabs
On Dewey's whereabouts and wiles, she'd long been keepin' tabs
That's what made her wish that he'd be eaten up by crabs
Shrimp on ice and Dewey gone, he's sailin' back t' town
Shrimp all iced in Dewey's box, he's sailin' back t' town
Walker Cotton's headin' home t' lay Miz Varney down
5. KEVIN KHAN
Kevin collected books about Mongolia,
an odd obsession for a man from Troy.
(That's Troy, New York,
not Troy in Anatolia).
He'd collected them since he was but a boy;
and from those books he gleaned both pride and joy.
Kevin knew the Khans like they were brothers,
knew the names of rivers, mountains, towns,
could tell one nomad group from all the others,
had pictured deserts drawn in grays and browns,
knew several hundred Mongol verbs and nouns.
Kevin built a gher that he could live in,
(a 'gher' is what the Mongols call their yurts).
He left his wife, (who never could forgive him,
and hoped he'd someday get his just deserts,
for leaving her with bills and kids and hurts).
Kevin, with his books and gher, has vanished.
His final letter, postmarked in Beijing:
"I'm heading northward, tired, hot and famished,
I've got a cart for hauling all my things,
content to wait to see what each day brings."
(Later, deep in the desert,
a lone bandit stands and looks
at the man he has just killed,
defending a pile of books).
6. BERYL
Beryl shared her name with a versatile gem,
a fact
missed by her mother (now dead).
Her name, Beryl knew, had been taken instead
from a
romance book mother had read.
Beryl (the stone) was very nondescript
'til
trace elements had been introduced.
If for instance you added chromium, then
an
emerald-like stone was produced.
You could infuse beryl's matrix with iron and
thus
produce a blue aquamarine.
Beryl had never owned such rocks,
cubic
zircs flashed from all of her rings.
Beryl was plain, too, in her natural state,
before
daubing on henna and kohl,
and hiding in green and blue eye powder
so that
no one could peek at her soul.
Wrapped in color and swirling feathers,
Beryl
danced on the stage every night,
for the little old men with one dollar bills
who were
desperate, but always polite.
At the end of the evening her color came off;
nondescript,
she went home to her son,
and counted her tips and read romance books,
just the
way that her mother had done.
7 and 8. HANNELORE CLINE AND GAYLENE GREENE
Hannelore Cline and Gaylene Greene,
Prettiest ladies I've ever seen.
Walking out on Morrow's Hill,
Arm in arm in the evening chill.
Prettier ladies you'll never find
Than Gaylene Greene and Hannelore Cline.
Gaylene Greene and Hannelore Cline
Stand beneath the hickory pine.
Mitchel Floyd is buried there
With his book of common prayer:
A Methodist preacher, tall and lean,
And once beloved by Gaylene Greene.
Hannelore Cline and Gaylene Greene
Were raised out by Lake
Nazarene.
Second cousins, yet sisterly,
They grew in beauty, by degree.
Walked to church on the railway line,
'til fever struck down Hannelore Cline.
Gaylene Greene helped Hannelore Cline
Through her illness, which left her blind.
Mitchel Floyd came out to pray,
Gaylene Greene did bid him stay.
Served him corn and lima beans,
Preacher courted Gaylene Greene.
Hannelore Cline told Gaylene Greene
That such behavior was obscene:
A man of God, a preacher man,
Should not be lusting for her hand.
Gaylene Greene said it was fine:
They'd always care for Hannelore Cline.
Gaylene Greene took Hannelore Cline
To be her maid when came the time
To Mitchel Floyd she was duly wed.
He carried her to their marriage bed;
Outside, listening to her scream,
Hannelore Cline wept for Gaylene Greene.
Hannelore Cline killed Gaylene Greene
And Preacher Floyd the very next spring.
Laced their food with ash and lye,
Took four hours for them to die.
She sat there, patient, all that time,
Then poisoned herself, did Hannelore Cline.
Gaylene Greene and Hannelore Cline
Were found days later, limbs entwined
Upon the floor, a last embrace,
A look of horror on Gaylene's face.
On Mitchel's too, then what was seen
Was Hannelore smiling at Gaylene Greene.
Hannelore Cline and Gaylene Greene,
Prettiest ladies I've ever seen.
Walking out on Morrow's Hill,
Arm in arm in the evening chill.
Appearing at dusk as the light is dying:
Gaylene Greene and Hannelore Cline.
9. TIM
Tim's mother died when we were just fourteen,
a sudden illness, it was quick,
she didn't seem that sick,
but must have been.
Afterwards, Tim's dad just left him alone.
We'd go over to play guitar,
watch Tim get more bizarre,
and then go home.
Tim quit school, didn't see a need for it:
"Gonna be a rock star, instead,
or maybe end up dead,
just like Mom did."
We tried to be a good friends, keep in touch,
but it got harder every week.
Tim just sat, didn't speak,
at least not much.
Tim knew more about drugs than anyone,
he had tried everything there was.
We went along because
it seemed like fun.
There was this wild girl runaway we knew,
she'd vanish, get busted, come home.
Usually went alone,
'til Tim went too.
We heard he'd come back. Next day, tried to phone.
No answer. Thought we'd visit, though.
Knocked, looked through the window:
everything gone.
Never heard from Tim or his dad again.
"His mom's death caused it," we agreed.
(But did he really need
some better friends?)
10. OBADIAH
With sixty-six chapters, Isaiah's got it all:
the condemnation and then the consolation.
Me, on the other hand, with twenty-one verses,
I just predict the downfall of one small nation.
Ezekiel has his wheels, Daniel his lions,
everyone knows Jonah and his big showy whale.
My writing is nothing but prophecy, straight up,
I don't even take the time to tell my own tale.
Who remembers Edom
these days? No one, that's who.
But I was the prophet chosen to seal their fate.
Thing is, though, that the Edomites fell more than once,
so it's tough to even pin my book to its date.
So why did I make the cut when others didn't?
Why am I in the Twelve, and not an also-ran?
My message was short and sweet ("first pride, then the fall"),
and the LORD, He loves folks with short attention spans.
11. WALTER
Walter was out in the woods digging,
finally gonna build on his vacant tract.
He'd rented a back hoe and a bulldozer,
since he didn't wanna bust his back.
Walter was gonna build a little cabin,
a place where he could sit and relax,
since he'd read that pent-up stress
increased the risk of heart attacks.
He asked his cousin Daniel to help,
they took turns working the back hoe,
as they dug down a bit to lay the foundation
in the spot where the cabin would go.
Walter was digging, Daniel loafing,
when the back hoe's blade was jarred.
"Look n' see what I hit," yelled Walter.
"Might be a root, 'cept it felt too hard."
Daniel peered down into the trench,
then waved to Walter to turn off the hoe.
"Looks like something metal, Walter,
maybe a pipe or a barrel, I dunno . . ."
Walter climbed down from the digger,
grabbed the shovels and they dug by hand.
They scraped the soil from the object,
which turned out to be an old metal can.
"What the hell do we do with this?
And what's it doing way out here?"
"I dunno . . . guess it could be dangerous,
'cause it's gotta been buried for years."
"It's not really all that heavy, though,
so I doubt that it's fertilizer or gas."
"Go get something to pry the top off,
then let's dump it over there in the grass."
Daniel came back with a hammer and spike
and started whacking at the barrel's top.
It was old and pretty well rusted on,
but soon it cracked, with a small wet pop.
"Phew . . . that don't smell right,"
said Walter, as he gagged and held his nose.
They pried the top off, peeked inside,
saw a leg bone, feet, and some toes.
Walter and Daniel ran out of the woods,
drove straight home and called the police,
who carried off the body, studied it well,
said she'd been there fifty years, at least.
Walter never did finish that little cabin,
he sold the wooded lot, never went back.
Three years to the day after they dug up that lady,
Daniel found Walter dead of a heart attack.
12. EALDORMAN TONDBERHT OF SOUTH GYRWAS
My place in the history books is but a small one:
I ruled the fen-dwelling Angles of South Gyrwas
and married Ethelreda, princess of East Anglia,
who was morbidly devoted to her own virginity,
which she had pledged, she told me, to our Savior.
Soon thereafter, I died of causes unrecorded,
a footnote in Ethelreda's impressively chaste career.
She later married King Egfrith of Northumbia,
and they lived together as though brother and sister,
until, twelve years later, he demanded consummation
and she fled him to found the monastery at Ely.
She lived out her days there, and was later made a saint.
I missed all that, though, long dead of a broken heart.
13. VINCENT
Vincent lived up the hill beyond our street,
back in the woods in a broken down shed.
He scared us, though we didn't quite know why.
(Possibly something our parents had said?)
We knew his name but called him "The Old Man."
He had a donkey and a bunch of hounds.
At night, in our beds, we'd hear them bark,
and cover our ears to block out their sounds.
Sometimes we'd hear something scarier still:
the clip-clopping sound of his donkey's feet.
The Old Man would go out walking at night,
pulling his donkey along in the street.
Where was he going? And what would he do?
The not knowing was the scariest thing.
We'd lie awake after the sounds had stopped,
terrified of what that silence might bring.
Few of us had seen The Old Man up close,
and that's just how we wanted things to stay.
He was our boogeyman, our nightmare fiend,
the shadow that woke at the end of day.
When the leaves fell we could just see his shed
as we rode by in mom's car's back seat.
We'd see him puttering around his porch,
throwing awful stuff for his dogs to eat.
The leaves grew back and fell a couple times,
and then we realized the dogs were gone.
No more hoof sounds waking us late at night,
no more laying there scared, waiting for dawn.
We never asked the grownups about it,
but one day someone's mom said Vincent died.
It didn't occur to them to tell us,
but when we heard that news, most of us cried.
14. MISTER SAM
Mister Sam, an honest merchant
with a tidy store that sells all good wares.
Dressed in white, with thin wire glasses,
orderly in his manners and affairs.
Member of the Junior Order,
Patriotic Son, a man among men.
Mister Sam, an honest merchant,
asset to our town, valued citizen.
He'd known hurt, lost his wife to 'flu,
appendicitis took his eldest son.
Member of the Junior Order,
took it standing, a strong American.
Every town needs a Mister Sam,
we came to depend on him more and more.
He'd known hurt, lost his wife to 'flu,
when his son died, we helped out at his store.
Dressed in white with thin wire glasses,
it's hard to imagine he'd go away.
Every town needs a Mister Sam,
that's why it's hard to bury him today.
15. CAMERON RUSK
Cameron Rusk led an average life,
with an average mix of joys and strife.
Had two nice children, one good wife,
Cameron Rusk led an average life.
Cameron Rusk was a family man,
drove a dark red minivan,
had a good insurance plan.
Cameron Rusk was a family man.
Cameron Rusk went to work each day,
ate his lunch at the Town Cafe,
then back on the job without delay.
Cameron Rusk went to work each day.
Cameron Rusk liked to watch TV,
and movies, too, to some degree.
He liked adventures and comedy,
Cameron Rusk liked to watch TV.
Cameron Rusk slept well at night,
dropped right off when he dimmed the light
and dreamed he had the gift of flight.
Cameron Rusk slept well at night.
Cameron Rusk had a secret, though,
but what it was, we just don't know.
It happened many years ago,
Cameron Rusk had a secret, though.
Cameron Rusk led an average life,
did average things with his kids and wife.
Never showed them his switchblade knife.
Cameron Rusk led an average life.
17. SPILKEY MOORE
"Spilkey Moore" said the words on the mailbox.
We'd point at them as we walked to school each day.
(We didn't realize that the house was a duplex:
one side for the Moores,
the Spilkeys lived next door).
We were stupid that way . . .
We thought "Spilkey Moore" was one person's name,
imagining him a tall glandular freak
who trapped innocent children, and wrapped them in chains,
'til he bit off their heads,
and then left them for dead,
just like a circus geek.
One day, we saw a sign as we walked by:
"Multi-family yard sale, Saturday at ten!"
Spilkey Moore had family? Someone married that guy?
Did they have kids as well?
We wondered what they'd sell,
and who could be their friends?
Saturday came, and we went to the sale.
There was no giant. Just two guys, two ladies.
They were old, one man looked kinda sickly and pale.
We heard him tell his wife
they would love their new life
in the Florida keys.
Soon after the sale, someone new moved in;
the mailbox changed from the way it was before.
We had a hunch, though, it was still the giant's kin.
'cause the first name had changed,
while the last name remained.
It now read: "Mulford Moore."
18. DESIREE
Desiree
awakes to face the new day,
eight hours after sunrise.
Rubs her eyes with mild dismay.
Sharp headache
calls to mind last night's mistake:
too many drinks of cheap gin,
poured by her friends at the wake.
"He looks good,"
they'd all agreed, as they stood
by Jimmy's open coffin,
peeking in quick as they could.
(Jimmy'd died
three days earlier, beside
his last batch of home made meth).
"Crystal
death," Kim said, and cried.
Then they drank,
Desiree, Lee, Kim and Frank.
"It's what he'd want," figured Lee,
"if we can't be doing crank."
(Later on,
when everyone else was gone,
Frank, Lee, Desiree and Kim
smoked some weed in Jim's old bong).
Now at home,
and apparently alone,
Desiree drops last night's dress
(quite the mess), and dials the phone.
"Where are you?"
shrieks Kim, "It's quarter to two . . .
You missed Jimmy's burial!
That's a hell'va thing to do!"
Desiree
crawls back in bed straight away
cries a bit, feels pretty sad,
wishes she'd drunk Tanqueray:
cheap gin always makes you pay.
19. WADE BADIN
Wade Badin left his home
before he'd turned sixteen.
His parents sighed, when he was gone,
"He's clever, but he's mean."
He traveled 'round the South,
did odd jobs for his keep.
The folks who met him often said,
"He's distant, but he's deep."
Wade Badin met a girl
who wandered, just like him.
She told the jury, later on,
"He's thoughtful, but he's grim."
They wound up in our town,
slept in the woods at night.
The sheriff kept an eye on Wade:
"He's shiftless, but he's bright."
Wade Badin stole a car
from Walter Parker's yard.
State troopers tracked him up the coast,
"He's cautious, but he's hard."
His luck ran out at last,
they hauled him back to jail.
He languished there for seven months,
"He's seasoned, but he's frail."
Wade Badin went to court,
charged with a felony,
but late that night, he cut his bars,
"He's guilty, but he's free."
He crept back to the house
from which he first had roamed.
His parents sighed, when he returned,
"He's crazy, but he's home."
20. MISTER POLLARD
Mister Pollard says to watch the hedges,
he's sure there's something on the other side.
He sits and stares for hours every morning,
and guards his yard with vigilance and pride.
Mister Pollard says to eat more ice cream,
he says it cools our guts and keeps us well.
Hot guts, he says, can lead to awful illness.
It seems to work for him, best we can tell.
Mister Pollard says he won't pay taxes.
The Constitution tells him he is free
to spend his money when and where he wants to,
and he don't want to pay those SOB's.
Mister Pollard says he's been to Venus.
An angel flew him there, then flew him back.
He's got a yellow rock from that adventure,
he keeps it in a tin-foil coated sack.
Mister Pollard says our parents hate us,
but keep us 'round to help them with the chores.
People breed, he says, to make cheap labor.
When work expands, they go and breed some more.
Mister Pollard says he'll live forever.
He's got a thing he made of TV parts.
It keeps him young by fending off the sine waves
that helicopters shoot at people's hearts.
Mister Pollard says it's time to go now,
he sends us home with ice cream and some change.
Our parents say he's nuts and not to listen
in case he tries to tell us something strange.
21. TANCRED, CRUSADER
Saul sprang from Tarsus,
but I beseiged it
with my uncle, Bohemond, a Norman knight.
When it fell, though, the spoils went to others;
Baldwin of Jerusalem authored that slight.
I rejoined the Army of Crusaders:
Antioch crumbled before us, Haifa too.
We stormed and captured great Jerusalem,
and built its fallen cathedrals all anew.
Later, I was the Prince of Galilee;
from Tiberias I ruled the Lord's own land.
Mary's grotto was restored to glory,
dug from beneath Nazareth's
rubble and sand.
When Bohemond sailed off to the west,
I ruled Antioch and Edessa for him.
I, though, refused to offer such homage
as he had submitted to Byzantium.
These lands and their conquered people are mine,
and I hold them firm in the name of the Lord.
As His steward, I'll build, guard, nurture and
soon negotiate a lasting peace accord.
22. DELMAS, MASTER OF TRACTORS
These big ol' caterpillars here, I'll tell y',
they're like the lions in a circus cage:
doin' what y' tell 'em while y'r watchin'
then bitin' your ass off when y' turn away.
Y' gotta crack the whip with'ese ol' fellas,
let 'em know that y'r the big, bad boss,
but at the same time y' gotta love 'em, too,
gotta keep 'em good n' healthy, at any cost.
They're more'n just big piles o' glass n' metal
and I b'lieve they can smell fear on a man,
but I walk confidently through their garages,
maskin' m' scent with th' grease on m' hands.
I respect these tractors, n' that respect's mutual,
they know it's me what keeps 'em fit an' clean.
I'm not no fancy doctor or lawyer or nothin',
but I'm King o' the World to these here machines.
23. HABUKKUK
I had prayed to the LORD for the soul of my nation
and He responded by showing me our annihilation
by the Chaldeans, who would fly here like eagles to devour,
though they still seemed, at the time, but a minor power.
That felt wrong to me then, like fighting a fever with fire,
or like tossing the chosen people on the wicked ones' pyre.
Why should we be the victims of the Chaldeans' violence?
I prayed more, in my tower, and then waited in silence.
I wrote down the LORD's answer, as He asked me to do.
He told me He'd judge the Chaldeans before He was through,
but that for now, they were the imminent instrument of His will,
and that those faithful to Him would be His chosen people still.
After he answered me thus, I wrote down a short prayer,
with gorgeous, stirring images that I'd plucked from the air,
though I guess He'd inspired them, with His gifts and His graces,
and with His desire for all His people to walk in high places.
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