Inserts for Building a Retablo 
 
(Insert snapshot of 49 Ford
dashboard, nothing works         
except the speedometer,                      
the glass is cracked            
and resembles an eye             
winking up at you. Hang         
a blue bandana from the          
steering column.) 
 
(Place clay statue of a contemplative, 
black and white robes, sandals,        
orange Frisbee bouncing of his head) 
 
(Paint black a cardboard box, 
scattering
glitter for stars, call it                    
Outer Space, airbrush                     
a giant breast hovering                      
above Kansas, lots of                     
sunflowers, buffalo,                     
meadowlarks.  No clouds       
please.)

(Insert a rose in a water glass                  
surrounded by Chihuahua desert,                 
mesquite, lizards, rattlesnakes,                  
and an abandoned Ford Pinto) 
 
(Toss in a pinch of cayenne                  
pepper, red as sex and grinning           
with the shine of Texas sun) 
 
(Insert a plastic model of Bobby                
Geronimo holding a black               
parasol above White Dog               
while Dog strums his guitar.                
Set them on a mesa top,                
thousands of jack rabbits,                
road runners and armadillos                
have gathered to listen.               
If real animals cannot be found,                
borrow cement ones from               
the lawns in El Paso. Promise                
to return them or drive               
a flatbed with Mexican plates.) 
 
(Insert a boy fishing           
in knee-high rubber boots. His pole           
is bent with the weight of a pile             
of duckweed he has dredged up.            
In the background is one small tree             
and one orange fire. Only the fire             
is in color. Create from seeds.) 
 
(Roll a glass           
marble, mostly blue with             
little swirls of white.            
This marble should look       
vaguely similar to the earth           
when seen from the moon. Put it
beside the seed illustration 
of the fishing boy.) 

(Use Randy Buck's                   
straw hat, fill it with                   
three days worth of beer bottles,                   
a chili cookbook, dusty boots                  
and a Xerox of a snapshot of Maria                   
smiling faintly. Only her hair                   
and the beer bottles are colored.                   
Dull auburn.)

(steal
a pre-Columbian mask,                 
mount it
on a sapling of grease wood) 

(Place random sugar 
skulls throughout the retablo,
one for every friend
who comes to mind. 
Save one for the living,
for those you've forgotten,
those you’ve never thought of.
Let one dissolve in your
mouth like every sweet
thought that has slipped away.)


 
 
 
 
Burning the Back Porch

Dear Randy,

Bringing in the first    
logs of the season,      
I pause, starring into    
the empty firebox     
like a man examining     
his future.  WTF  
 What wood is this? I ask.      

Click Send 

Father Ray stumbles in,      
throws off his coat     
and rubs his hands together    
as if they were long dead branches.  
(the old back porch he says lol) 
Got that fire going yet,           
Brother Andrew?       
I strike the match,  
it ignites the    
darkness of the firebox     
like orange neon.     
White smoke flies       
from my fingers,     
and vanishes up the flue.

Click Send

Thinking of you,
 
Andy 

Click Send

Andy the Monk,

I read your email twice. Came up
with a memory of camping with Pop   
and you and maybe Bobby, I can't     
be sure. Pop was starting a fire         
 by the pond.  His hands were cold,   
shaking like flippers on a pin ball game.                                  
 
He kept blowing in them. Whiskey.  
Whiskey breath. Warm and sour in the           
cold wind.  When the willow twigs,     
finally caught.  They turned white,   
ashen white like very fragile paper.     
When the wind blew, they collapsed

and scattered.  One of them blew off            
above the water, and I wondered if maybe     
it was still warm, or if it had turned   
like a snowflake turns, icy hot.

Love me, Love my ash, Randy

Click Send         
 




Chainsaw 

Pop is ice skating. 
The sky, a blue gray 
smear of cloud and distance. 
He has his back to us, 
black top coat flapping in the wind. 
The ice is lighter than the sky.
Suddenly, Pop is skating 
across the sky.  The farm pond, 
a blue gray smear of cloud
and sunset. 
A yellow Stihl splits the sky. 
The ice breaks 
and Pop flaps his coat 
erratically, rising 
into the gray  
like a man who is trying 
desperately to fly.

I wake, happy that the baby                 
crying in the dimness is all                
part of my dream.  Then I feel                 
Maria throw away the covers.               
There's a baby in the house.                 
Maria brought her home from              
the hospital with her.
She's always finding stuff.                 
The baby's the size of a roll of paper towels.    
I know that because we stopped                
for groceries on the way home.                 
Then unloaded them all:  baby, paper towels,                 
milk, panty liners, pampers, aspirin,                 
Coors onto the kitchen table. 
 
The baby was smaller than the towels,                 
but larger than the six pack.                 
I slipped out onto                 
the porch swing.  From the window                 
I could hear Maria singing that
when the bough breaks thing.
Scary as hell at 3 a.m.