Eventide [fiction]

It was eventide over their heads, like old bourbon in a brandy glass, straight up. They came shyly as mosquitoes near still water, their flashlights adrift over dark girls in secret boxes. Their nights belonged to the wind.

The lake loved Sarah in secret. In her canoe, she was an enigma from the shore, carved twenty-odd years ago from the memory of a young girl sleeping beneath the inward sky. Her left hand covered her forehead. The fingernails were black and white. Her right hand rested shadowless in the lake. Her eyes were wide open but closed to the lurkers behind dawn’s door.

The south wind scampered ghosts across a lonely spider’s web. Delicate creatures fell wild on Sarah’s forehead and asked to see her brain; there was no tomb to rise dead from … no apples to bleed from … no dragon to claim as her own.

Her old man limped away. He stumbled to a blind horse amidst last year’s horses. He had been drinking again. Drunk horses left green droppings in blue patches of crab grass, but her old man paid no mind. He staggered home as quiet as the evening … as quiet as the dark girls at rest in the black earth of silence.

Rightful Heirs

Man’s abstraction is his mad reality—
His crazy reality is our despair

His ruin-prone proud national heritage
befalls us for a wretched dream

Ancient fires fuel his greed made savage by marketeers

A proprietor evicts a family struggling to make ends meet
No compassion
He says he needs his money to pay his bills—
but his bloated bank account kisses his fat rolls
The biggest dollar is his queen—
see how fast he drops to lick her toes

He robs the land from the true inheritors—
rapes human lives for cash
He would sell the fleas and clothes off their backs
to profit from his attack
His abstractions are his mad reality—
His methods are our despair

The homeless seek shelter in the streets
until the lawman locks them up
in care of tax dollars hard at work

Ancient fires fuel the greed made savage by marketeers

Seduction

Today at market,
shopkeepers showcased brand-new cars
and seduced nearsighted and potbellied old men
with promises to stop their loneliness.

The promises were offers of a future
spent speeding on swift wheels.

And so shiny chrome kissed the old men
and sent them dreaming behind leather-bound steering wheels,
the smooth bellies of animal skin seats
rubbing the bottom of their trousers,
while the shopkeepers picked their pockets
as each wallet and infatuation came undone.

And I stood alone bearing my scorn, ignored.