harvey and marvels

it was harvey and marvel to the north

not like it mattered to my feet or mind if i wanted thru

their field of cows ever since they shot our dog

when i was a baby or later dad brought home

the squab for mom to bbq i took care of

the anthills with gasoline and firecrackers and cleaned the highway

of empty cans that their weenie dog could get

stuck in they had steep stairs with carpet

across just a ways was the split rail

which had cockfighting in the basement i was told it was

no nonsense on union and 51

where dad put his plants in the pines it was

a marvel no one saw those nocturnal angels

peppered on barn beams

noodled way different not like it mattered

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north down union on the gravel road

years of xmas trees, blackberry buckets, barefoot jogs,

magazine subscription cold calls,

learning to drive the datsun wagon,

walks. a backway home, later.

south on union were a few amigos, for a few years.

and the intersection a mile out

where busboys drank, leaning toward insurrection.

late show burgundy,

the scorpions or rush or van halen nothing in a stew of stars

and more oil underfoot than anywhere on planet earth

with our firebird, 280z, porsche, or vega

haunting midnight after work in the country

where headlights say hello a mile before

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the stansfields had the brick yawn at the foot of the drive

to our three acre hippy haven and owned the

steak lobster coke and shrimp place a hundred yards away

with no windows a cinderblock shelter themed

in spats and formal attire playing joe jackson or count basie