in wister OK

we sat on high heeled stools in the fisherman's lounge
tavern while a couple of cartoon faced men
shot some rank pool. zippy was standing in the corner,
by the jutebox when a farmhickmama
ax'em if he like rock-n-roll.
i like everything he replied, not calculating
the precise volume of flesh stuffed
into her tubetop
not squinching at the creak of listening naugahyde eyelids
not igniting the belches erupting from the oilfield
worker hunched next to his mom.
jim and i just sat there watching this, savoring
the finely layered ices on top of our beer draft.
thinking about goofing off,
the Real work to get done.


1989, lawrence kansas