-- Whaddahell Three times
threetimes
this evening
Ya got my attention
Im with ya Im with ya
Awright now
whatcha got to say where ya goin widdis huh
ONCE
in slick oil oozed into a puddle marbling
rainbowhued on a twist lit up by the neon signage coming off the gym
TWICE
on a tree as he walked past it caught his attention lingered
he adjusted his gym bag slung over his shoulder an outgrowth low on its hoary trunk sticks of saplings no bigger round than his little finger winding braiding themselves together in a thatch
THREE TIMES
on the condensation on the
door of the steam room its therapeutic
heat chased two then three men out of the room
nearly one right behind the other
the niggling cooler air from the lockerroom twining in adhering to the glass disturbing the hot moisture and etching
itself by its coolness
then showering
ruminating on its slender unique
appearances the alertness in its spines
and shoulders the tension the attitude of its arms and heads Aware
keenly aware on guard?
the kachinas appearing to him were
on guard suspicious
the three manifestations bore suspicion
hed be blind not to see that
pulling his shirt on over his
head his exercised arms and shoulders protested
their protest was
also issued with a slight groan which then always made him laugh
if
they didnt protest hed beat it back down to the weight room and work them until
they did
it was gonna be good to get
home
throw
on some jazz
fix up quinoa spiced shrimp in the shell and steamed planed vegetables
a mug
of hot green tea
he earned it
and evidently
the
kachinas did too
he slung his bag over his right
shoulder heavier now and he
headed out the door
the rain had lightened to a
simmering mist
lights careened madly in all possible angles off shiny flat surfaces rounded auto bodies
and wheel hubs it shimmered up in the crowns
of the trees subdued on their wetted black
trunks and exposed limbs
it moved like surreptitious insects
at the umbrae and sheer of the streetlights
he liked walking in the rain
as he approached a lighted covered
bus stop he recognized a figure outside it
unlit hanging back towards a row
of tall shrubs their clothing wet
it
began towards the sidewalk as he came
-- Hey brother . . .
Not your brother he
thought that irritated him the assumption identity
the hell he didnt
refer to his own brothers as brother
. . . help a
brother out . . .
Help a brother out that was as
bad as someone asking a favor and concluding the ask with a thank you assuming youd
grant it when a favor has to be agreed to before a thank you then ought to be tendered
the honeycoloured light cast by the
fixtures in the bus stop cut in front of his hooded head obscured his face though exposed his forearms the sleeves raggedly cut away
he held his right arm back
he held his right arm back
.
. . a few bucks ought to do it you look like you got a few bucks to spare . . .
on his left forearm nearest him
a tattoo
a badly-executed kachina
-- Im not your brother he spat
. . . the
brother came on picking up his pace
he wasnt asking
and in that
evaporating second he slipped his bag down from his slinged shoulder bringing
it between the two of them
it
took the brunt of a vicious punch to his belly
gripping his bag in
both hands he banged him bodily with it
then yanked it to the right as he brought his left fist up and caught
him heavily on the eye
hoodie reeled
he followed with a heavy right to
the bridge of his nose his head still
jacked around from the concussion of his left
hoodie was out on his feet
brother
went over like a tree
he was almost grateful for his hood
and maybe if he had hair not a skinhead it might absorb some of the blow as the back
of his head slapped on the sidewalk
he didnt have a cellphone
his hands hurt
there was no give in the handles he held his bag by
What the hell
jogging he was probably a little over five minutes from the stop
jogging he was probably a little over five minutes from the stop
if the brother
came to in the meantime he might beat the cops
he might beat the rap
he went up the timbered backporch
to his second storey apartment and let himself in off the housekey he babypinned
to the hem of his pullover shirt
setting his bag down on the red Formica and chrome kitchen table he turned towards the telephone on the wall
midturn he stopped
arrested
arrested
he turned back to the table his bag dripping on it
he caught something in the soft overhead light
in the side of his bag
stuck in the side of his bag was
a kitchen utility knife
he could make the bus stop in
less than five
he could
he could give him his
knife back
No he thought
Let the brother bleed
2204, Saturday,
7 2. 15
