Summer sucks

The air becomes thick sludge
with every breath and every step
you feel more and more
like an overheated wreck
the thermostat's busted
the radiator is blown
It's the hottest summer
you've ever known
and it's been thirty years
since you were full grown
the sun beats down
the garden wilts
so you crank the air
with a touch of guilt
the blacktop shimmers
with a heat mirage
the shingles are melting
on the garage
the only thing happy
Is the farmer's sweet corn
it's fat and plump
we've had plenty of storms
It's juicy and huge
a sort of food porn
you hide in the bedroom
with the air cranked high
hoping the powerlines
don't up and fry
a blackout or brownout
surely would suck
and the air conditioner
is broke in your truck
So it's bookstores and bars
and coffee shops
anywhere cool
is where one stops
you pray for a cold front
and maybe world peace
but mostly for this heatwave to cease

Mabel rolls free at last.

The big green Mercury sat waiting, waitng and waiting to go somewhere down there in the driveway.
Not to the damn grocery store. Not to band practice, not to the big box hardware store, but somewhere, anywhere it could stretch it's legs.
It was made for the roadtrip. Like a cheetah is born to run and kill, like a mosquito is drawn to feast and spawn, like a republican craves a mommy and daddy who will eliminate possiblility and make all things right, Mabel the Sable craved a big highway and a long unbroken run down the road, chewing up miles and spitting out fumes.
If she could purr, she'd would never stop at a flat 70 mph on the highway. She needed it, needed that wind flowing over her roof ticlking her rear end, needed to spool out on the turnpike, letting the scenery slide by her windows, her quiet interior making a green velvet coccoon for her driver.
She'd been a rental car when she started her road adventures, been nearly wrecked by it too. Her grandmotherly previous owner hardly knew what the pedal on the right was for, but her current owner sure did.
She fidgeted all night long, waiting for five am, when ellie would stumble down the stairs, ready to spill coffee on her upholstery, then settle into a serious rythym of tires clacking on road joints, stopping only till she hit the southwest corner of Pennsylvania for a week.
Of course Mabel allways forot about those regular java and bladder stops. When she did remember the routine, she'd get all cranky for a while and not let the airconditioner work,
showing that bitch behind the wheel that she wasn't completely in charge.
Ellie didn't mind. She like her green machine enough to know no relationship worth shit is frictionless. She'd learned that from her bandmate, who shall go nameless in this missive.
See ya next week, my freakish readers.

e.e.

Holiday Un-fun

He hated fireworks. Every mortar, every firecracker, every loud flash and boom, the drifting smell of gunpowder on the wind all made him feel like throwing up or hiding under the bed.
Even his german shepard didn't get as scared.
As a kid, he loved fireworks, shooting, guns and all the wild energy that came with being a kid and being LOUD. Loud guitars, loud cars, the screaming of football games or the throbbing feel of a big Harley with a blown muffler rumbling along.
Now, every bam!, every flash and bang brought back memories of those days on the big highway, crusing along listening to the big diesel roaring, feeling naked, waiting for those horrible crunching noises, the peppery smell of blood, and the numb feeling his ears had for weeks after the roadside bomb went off, along with his left earlobe, half his right foot and his little finger on his left hand.
It sucked, having his favorite holiday destroyed, along with his self confidence, sense of saftey and large parts of his soul.