there were small clouds
smudges
in a bright sky
trees bobbed in the windwent
side to sideback an forth agile boxers feigning jabbing in an out keeping away
from the big hand the bomb brought up from the mat
usually the afternoon was filled
with bird calls
it was notorious to-day
because it wasnt
when animals gave him a wide berthbirds
refused to sing he wondered it was the third time in a few
days that he was enslaved by stringent white light
which was astonishing
seeing that
he was drawn to black
for his birthday his daughters
independent of each other bought him black tshirts predominately black
two were etched one with Johnny Cash at Folsom flipping off the
photographer the second a stylised buffalo
made up of vertical feathers side by side
water is life printed in turquoise complimenting the colours in the
feathers
when he casually asked them why they chose
black tshirts they replied Jeez Dad You look good in black
little did they know that they
were dressing him as he dressed himself in high school a tight black tshirt and blue jeans
that was his uniform his statement
he ably stood out from among the
greasers the longhairs the lettermen and cheerleaders
a freak in his own right
finally
the wind was cut by the distant cry of a hawk
curiously the sport teams he made in high school were called Hawks
he was
a Hawk
he
wanted to play three sports
he
did
until two of the
coaching staffs blacklisted him for challenging their authority
they didnt say Fuck
you kid though
you could see it hanging in their mouths
they fucked him by cutting him in the first
round of tryouts
he was cut before a retard would be
his friends had no pity
Who are you to question the coaches
Coaches? Theyre not coaches Theyre padding their
teachers salaries
No matter They decide
deciders
which Bushwhacker later owned
he
certainly showed what kind of decider he was
miserable
though
no less miserable that those teachers-playing-coach
then the distant hawk quieted
leaving him the white sunlight
the bobbing trees
the traffic on the 101 that he
preferred to imagine as a frothy surf washing up on the beaches and rocks of
the Left Coast
1341, Thursday,
11 5. 17
1346
days remaining or less Russian buhbye
