Body

Since I saw you, I just can’t
Get you out of my mind.
You revealed your innermost secrets,
Disturbing and beautiful, yet
By their very nature, secret
Even from you.

Beauty, strength and weakness
Suspended before me,
I hung there, a poor reflection,
Searching your transparency
And could not help but
Compare my flaws.

Your private parts were not
As private, really, as the rest;
A familiar reminder that
You must have had lovers.
None of them could know
You like I do.

Still, you remain a mystery.
I don’t even know your name.






























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Gremlin

I discovered a stack of old writing in a box
last night and it included the following
story that I wrote in 1996. It's been so
long since I tried to write an honest-to
god short story that I had forgotten I
ever did. If there's anybody out there, I
hope you enjoy it.












Something was wrong. The engine didn't sound right. The
Gremlin wasn't purring, but then again, she never exactly
purred. The sound the car usually made could most accurately
be described as a blat, but at least it was a familiar blat. The
noise issuing out of her now was something Jim hadn't heard
before, more like a clunk-ting. Just then, the car shuddered
twice and gave up the ghost. Jim coasted to a stop at the curb.
Great timing. It had been over an hour since he'd watched
the dim lights of Fort Lucid recede in his rearview. A
smokestack-dotted town sweltering in the armpit between
two foothills, Fort Lucid was nevertheless the only burg
he'd seen in two days which was large enough to support a
decent repair shop.

As he pulled his dog-eared map from the glove compartment,
Jim climbed out and glanced around to see where he was.
The little town he was stranded in looked to be no more than
a few small businesses struggling along two blocks of Highway
61. A couple of tiny houses with peeling paint were visible at
the only cross street. The storefronts directly across from where
the Gremlin sat immobile were empty, the glass taped and
papered over. On the next block, Jim saw "Harding's Farm
Supply" professionally painted on a window which was
thickly coated with dust. By contrast, a hand-lettered cardboard
sign humbly identified the business next door to the farm supply
to be Lee's Grocery. The grocery store's window was covered
with ancient ad flyers, faded and curling in the sun. Jim
could barely make out “MILK 65¢ HALF GAL!!!”

"No offense, Lee, but if your milk is as old as that sign, I think
I better pass," Jim chuckled to himself and then jumped as a
door beside him opened with a screech of rusty hinges. He
would have sworn that the door wasn't there just a moment
before. A man stepped out from behind it and turned to look at
Jim. In the endless moment that the two of them stood there,
too close together for comfort, Jim felt cold sweat trickle
down his back. The man looked to be at least sixty-five, not
tall - maybe five-eight, yet he was physically intimidating
all the same. He just seemed more there than anything else
around him. Tanned, leathery skin covered sharp features. A
long pony tail, completely silver, hung nearly to his shoulder
blades. His arms were thick and there was no belly pooching
over his belt. Jim, who stood six feet tall in his stocking feet,
nevertheless felt like a little boy next to him. He became
aware that the hair on the back of his neck was standing
on end. The man smiled, revealing yellow, pointed teeth.
Jim's mouth went dry as the man extended his hand.

"Hey, there, fella, looks like you got some chariot troubles.
Damned hot day for it." The man's breath was so foul and
thick that Jim expected to see gnats come out of his mouth
in a cloud.

He wasn't even aware he had put his own hand out until
the man's rough fingers closed around his. Jim felt the
world suddenly shift beneath his feet, and a distant buzzing
drone filled his head. He blinked twice, hard, and found
himself looking down into the man's wide blue eyes. "My
name's Meph, young man, and I run this little shop here.
I'd like to tell you I specialize in auto repair, but I really
just do a little o' this 'n a little o' that. I'd be glad to take
a look at your Gremlin, there, and see if I can't fix 'er up.
If it's okay with you, that is."

Jim relaxed and smiled back. He heard himself answer
in the affirmative. Had he really thought this guy was
imposing? He was just a lonely old man; he probably
didn't see many people or have much to do all day.
What kind of a name was Meph, though? Jim
wondered. He didn't notice that his hand had crept
down to his jeans of its own accord and was busily
wiping itself off.

"Let's get this little devil started again and pull 'er
around back." Meph reached in through the driver's
window and popped the hood, then bent over the
engine, simultaneously digging in one pocket. Jim
studied the front of the shop. It was identical to the
other storefronts in town, but hanging over the
door was a curved metal sign with beautifully
scrolled lettering which stated simply, "Repair
Shop". Obviously hand-made, the workmanship was
incredible. Strange that he hadn't noticed it when he
drove up. He opened his mouth to ask about the
sign when Meph stuck his head around the open
hood. "Give 'er a try." Doubtful, Jim climbed in and
twisted the key. The engine caught immediately.

"How'd you do that so fast?" Jim asked, more than
a little relief in his voice.

"Just a little trick o' the trade," Meph smiled his
sharp yellow grin again and dropped the hood
shut. "Drive on around back and let me see what
else she needs."

When he drove behind the building, Jim discovered
a large rolling door which opened to reveal that the
dividing wall between two stores had been knocked
out, providing an area large enough to contain a
small pneumatic lift. The space was surprisingly
tidy, the cement floor scrupulously clean. A
wide counter ran down one wall, and it was
covered with dismantled appliances. Jim drove
the Gremlin onto the lift, cut the engine and got
out. Meph pushed a button on the floor with
his foot, a motor hummed, and the car began
to rise. Jim's eyes were drawn down into the
darkness below the lift's recess. For just a
second he saw red eyes glowing, then they
were gone. Probably a rat, or even somebody's
housecat, looking for a little mouse-snack. A
half-forgotten rhyme from his childhood played
in his mind: Love to eat them mousies, mousies
what I love to eat, bite they little heads off,
nibble on they tiny feet. This conjured up the
image of a fat striped tabby holding a banjo in
its paws. Jim shook his head to clear it. Been
driving way too long without a break, bud.

While Meph tinkered with the car, Jim
wandered over to the counter. He was
mildly surprised to see several inexpensive
items among the profusion of appliances: a
toaster, a hair dryer, a clock radio. Stuff so
cheap that most people just threw it away when
it broke instead of paying to have it fixed. Jim
also noticed that some things didn't seem to
be broken so much as burned. The toaster's
casing was charred. The hair dryer's buttons
were melted and its cord was a blackened
stump. Jim picked up the toaster, then reflexively
dropped it when water came pouring out.
Moving further down the counter, he was
examining a coil of frayed rope when his foot
brushed something on the floor. It appeared to
be a piece of farm equipment. Rust-colored
streaks covered three jagged metal teeth.
Reaching down, Jim removed a scrap of
fabric that clung to the third tooth. It was
dark blue flannel, stained on one edge to a
deep purple. Something skittered a spider's
path in the back of Jim's mind.

He was interrupted from his reverie by the
hiss of the lift as it descended. "Looks like
we're about done." Meph was wiping red
fluid from his hands on a black rag.

"How much do I owe you?" Jim reached for
his wallet, but Meph waved him off.

"I can't take money for this job. Only needed
a few minor adjustments. She should run fine,
now, though." Meph stuffed the rag in his right
hip pocket.

"At least let me buy you lunch." As the offer
rolled off of his tongue, Jim tried to remember:
Was there a cafe in town?

"Oh, no, no. I’ve already got my lunch today,
son. Old farts like me don't have much of an
appetite anyway. "

“Well, okay, then. I can't tell you how much I
thank you." Jim opened the Gremlin's door and
slid into the front seat. He reached for the gear
shift and pulled his hand back in surprise. The
knob was gone.

"No. Thank you, boy. Oh, and here you go.
I noticed you lost your gear shift knob." He
held something out to Jim. Jim took it hesitantly.
It was the most unusual thing Jim had ever seen.
It was a small gold ball, ornately inscribed all
over its surface. As he held it, the inscription
appeared to move. Jim blinked and the decoration
stilled. He turned it over in his hands and
discovered a threaded hole. It screwed perfectly
onto the stem of the shifter, as if it had been made
for the Gremlin. He gripped the ball with his
palm and again heard the little snatch of rhyme:
Love to eat them mousies . . .

"You gotta let me pay you for this, Meph."
But when he looked up, he saw the old man
already disappearing through the shop's side door.

Jim turned the ignition key and the engine roared
to life. It sounded better than ever before; almost
- but not quite - a purr. Damn. Maybe it was gonna
be an okay day after all.

Leaving the dusty town behind him, Jim crested a
hill and disappeared from sight, swallowed whole
by the mouth of the valley that lay beyond.

* * *

"Oh, come on, John, suck it up. You're supposed to
be a cop."

"I can't help it, this is really disgusting." John
took another deep breath, then leaned in the Gremlin's
passenger door. The car had been sitting in the hot sun
for days, windows rolled up, before it was finally
discovered by a county extension officer making his
weekly trip to visit outlying farms along this lonely
fifty-mile stretch of Highway 61.

John and Wes had been partners for five years, and
Wes had still not tired of telling John gross jokes and
recounting, in excruciating detail, the most stomach-
turning aspects of the job he encountered. He knew
John had a weak constitution and a vivid imagination,
an unfortunate combination in this line of work,
and Wes loved to make it worse. Today, however,
even Wes sounded a little freaked out.

After the local sawbones/medical examiner had
finished taking his photographs, it was up to John
and Wes to bag up the evidence. Obviously a
homicide, it was equally obvious that the crime
would never be solved. Too much time had passed
since it had occurred and too little money was
available for equipment and personnel out here in
the middle of nowhere. It was more than likely a
drug deal gone sour, anyway. The vicious way the
man had been killed said that much. The only
thing John couldn't figure in was the little hand
they'd found resting on the engine. When John had
first seen it, he'd thought it was a baby's until he
turned it over and saw all the hair. Doc later
confirmed it was a monkey's paw.

That was bad enough, but the worst part, the
part that woke John up in the wee hours of the
morning for three weeks straight, sweat-soaked
sheets sticking to his naked chest, was the way
they'd had to slide the guy's head off of the
gearshift post to get him out of the car.

Independence Day

"I believe that it will be celebrated
by succeeding generations as the
great anniversary festival... it ought
to be celebrated by pomp and parade,
with shows, games, sports, guns, bells,
bonfires and illuminations from one
end of this continent to the other..."
– John Adams

“Grilling outdoors is one of the highest
honors we can bestow on a guest.”
- Michael Pollan, The Omnivore's
Dilemma: A Natural History of Four
Meals


Our country’s declaration of
independence from Britain, the beginning
of the labor that ultimately birthed
the great United States of America,
is a heavy subject. Trying to write
about it with any poetry at all is like
trying to paint a sunset, something so
frequently and badly done by unskilled
artists that I shrink from the idea. I am,
in the words of Wayne Campbell, not
worthy.

So I won’t do it.

Yesterday, Tim and his kids joined
Cameryn and me and we built a fire,
talked about history, roasted hot dogs
and marshmallows and played charades
until it was time to watch fireworks.
There was plenty of laughter, just a
little bit of complaining, and a couple
of the kids got in trouble for playing
with the fire. We drove to my office
in Deep Deuce and joined some friends
from work to drink beer and champagne
and watch the lights in the sky.

It was very American.