stories in chrome

a Poncho Indian head lights up orange

centering five silver streaks

the waterfall of a Buick ’50 grill

pours over the bumper like buck teeth

bullseyes and gunsights

afterburner tail lights

a leaping ram, the saber jet

greyhounds running with the swan set—

 

and a bullet nose V-8 protrudes

like a rocket ship to space

 

bowties, badges and blue ovals

the Mayflower sailing ship

spinning wheels, a flying lady

Special De Luxe in shining script

stainless strips are speeding long

can chrome embellishment be that wrong?

 

and tin-capped fins are taking off

for the asphalt jet age

 

dog dishs and baby moons

venti-ports and sweeping spears

looking at spinnies and Cad sombreros

is like holding silver mirrors

Coupe de Ville egg crates

DeSoto dentures on Merc plates

the regal Chrysler’s royal seal

on this moveable metal meal—

 

innocent decadence?

fifties extravagance?

 

no sir, these were great stories in chrome

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the invasion of Three Hills

the Angels are in Three Hills

steel horses, Harleys, hogs

they’re makin’ lots of noises

like a bunch of howlin’ dogs

 

their plates all say, ONTARIO

and they got a white support van

but he can’t go as fast as them so

the Mounties nab this man

 

the red coats get ’em all pulled over

at the Three Hills intersection

checkin’ license, tags and papers

askin’ ’bout their destination

 

leathers, badges and bandanas

panheads, knuckleheads and Crown Vics

this highway shoulder’s a punk parade

cops are bustin’ chops and licks

 

no guns, no harm, no foul

no drugs or warrants for bad men

the red coats gotta let ’em go

back on these roads again

 

the Angels have invaded but

they’re harmless as blue pills

a little rowdy and rambunctious

they’ll be camping in Three Hills

 

meetin’ the southwestern chapter

of the Alberta anarchy patrol

they say they’ll keep it peaceful

so our Mounties let ’em roll

 

the Angels are in Three Hills

steel horses, Harleys, hogs

they’ll keep on makin’ noises

and howlin’ halos like free dogs

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the skunk and green nightie

she’s a blue jean cosmopolitan

a sophisticatedly sober soothsayer

I’m the drunk skunk long tongue

the wine-soaked word player

looking at the red meniscus

this Nippon nose now knows

she’s a sweet, full-bodied bodicus

and my sensei sensitivity grows

 

drunk as a skunk

oh, my funk

‘n Wagnalls is

dictionary dysentery

Jimminy’s cricket-sy

and lemony snicket-ry

look at me

true blue Lenin

but Trotsky-like too

these naked commissars

are prancing rapscallions

with coils of

dis-Oliving Oyls

flowing through the night

 

you’re drunk, she said

I’m not, I’m writing

no, you go to bed

and don’t be biting

me—

oh, Sweets

that’s such a pretty

green nightie

stretched so tightly

a yawn and a burp

and a toothpaste kissy

good nighty

good nighty

good nighty

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There’s No Place Like Home

     “Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore,” Dorothy said clutching her dog to her chest. “We must be over the rainbow!”  Then the video clip scrambled and died like it had done nineteen times before.

     Gracie wished to go home. Back home to Kansas, to a home on Earth. She shut off the monitor, went to the window and looked out at the dawn. The two moons of Mars were still visible in the tawny sky to her left. On her right, the firestorm from a solar flare was speeding across the red horizon pushing a massive dust cloud in front of it.

     It wouldn’t be long now and she would leave on her terms.

 

     “Time to go, baby,” Dad had said that first time leaving Kansas and her friends. She had cried for hours. “Listen Gracie, home is wherever we are together,” he said. And the Air Force took them someplace else, every two years. She remembered how anxious she felt moving around the country and to other parts of the world. Driving along some desert highway he’d say things like: “We live in God’s house, Gracie.” He’d wave at the clouds and yell, “We are God’s house!”

     They would watch The Wizard of Oz together. It was their favorite thing to do. “We’re not in Kansas anymore, baby!” he’d always say and laugh with her. They’d take turns singing the different parts. 

     “You’re like her, Gracie. You’re spunky like Dorothy,” he’d say. “You’ll go get over a rainbow too, baby. I can see that in you.” And she did. She followed him into the Air Force in 2049.  

     Captain Grace Ehrhart went to the closet and took out her silver space suit. She laid it out carefully on the table and started to take off her uniform. When she was naked, Gracie sat down and took one last sip of her bourbon.

     She laughed and said out loud, “I must be over the rainbow now, Dad.”

 

     God’s house—

     Her group had been sent to Mars on a salvage mission; two years away from home to retrieve 70 years worth of rovers, robots and lost landers abandoned on its surface. Mars was a hostile, dead planet. The last initiative was to get all the dead equipment back.

     They had all been so excited to come here and get it done, she thought. Their bases were both the New Babylon Colony, located on a rim of the Gusev Crater, and the Mother Ship they had arrived on. New Babylon had been built during the push for human settlement here. After 10 months, it was determined Mars wasn’t fit for human habitation either physiologically or psychologically. New Babylon became a Martian ghost town.  

     Gracie’s mission had started out according to the Agency Plan. She alone coordinated the project from New Babylon. Her second-in-command flew Mother Ship to and from retrieval locations across the equatorial plains. What they could not have foreseen was the sun coughing a gargantuan fireball into the Martian orbit. The first solar flares had incinerated the forward retrieval crews. An asteroid shower had destroyed Mother Ship and everyone on board. The rim of the crater had spared her and the empty colony, until now.

     Communication with Ground Control on Earth had been lost five hours ago. The last transmission she received was, “Come home if you can, Captain.”

 

     “Time to go, Daddy,” she whispered. She stood up and put on the silver suit. She zipped up her shiny, silver boots. She took her helmet down from beside the hatch and went to the window. A tornado of red dust and flames seemed to be almost on top of her.

     “God—“ she sighed. Gracie put on the helmet and went to the hatch. She pressed the button and heard the buzz of the airlock. She stepped through and out into the escape pod. Gracie sat down, plugged in her life support and fastened her harness tight.

     She shut her eyes and clicked her silver heels together, three times. “There’s no place like home; there’s no place like home; there’s no place like home,” she said and then was gone in a spiral of red dust.  

 

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nothing stronger

nothing stronger

than a nice Canadian weed

like wild dandelion and thistle

they break through

rock, concrete, asphalt

the hardest ground

packed gravel

fabric and sand

to say, hello

weeds make cracks and

cracks are their homes

we try to kill ’em

poison ’em

pick ’em

those weeds are armored and resilient

sharp of humor and skin

tough and nonchalant

persecuted but still polite

these obnoxious, noxious greens

come back and say, thank you

again and again

’til winter

sends them deep

south

for five months

 

typical Canadian,

eh?

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star time

under outdoor covers

it’s star time—

 

a cloud of zee’s above my head

starry stars sing so bright

I can hear them twinkle

they rip tiny holes in my black blanket

and meteor showers sprinkle

down

stardust, sparks and aborigines

are dancing around my fire

did Van Gogh paint this starry night?

I whistle “Vincent” and tug on an ear—

 

satellites speed celestial

like Einstein’s watch is

a time continuum quandary

hey, these dreams are relative

Mercury sent me melatonin

and the Big Dipper is now

a chariot of the gods

 

sleep, perchance?

drug enhanced

 

I’ll dream my star time

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49-50

49

one more day of forty-nine

my health is good, I’m feeling fine

this gray goatee may be a sign

I’ve gone and crossed the middle line

but I’m not one to sit and whine

of my past youth, lament or pine

 

50

fifty’s here and all is great

I’m in love, I have a mate

good family, friends on my life’s plate

and there’s lots of things to go create

gotta do ’em now before it’s too late

fifty’s once, time won’t wait—

 

bring it on, baby

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The Race

     Deanna Markham was losing the race, again. She was second in a slothful race across the courtyard of her seniors home with the wheelchair-bound, Dora Lee Schmidt. Two elder tortoises in a juvenile competition to get to their favorite perch; a view of the creek below the farthest border of their restricting home. Deanna’s walker was missing a tennis ball off of one the feet which did not facilitate a smooth landing each time she put it down. Dora Lee was pushing her wheels like a locomotive, a cigarette dangling from her hairy lips. Deanna had always thought Dora Lee looked like a moose. A smoking moose on wheels, Deanna had thought. 

     Quite suddenly, Dora Lee stopped, took the smoke from her mouth and horked up a glob of green, nicotine-infused phlegm into a ready hankerchief. Safely camouflaged in the turquoise hanky, she hid it in the pocket of her cardigan. This performance was not lost on Deanna; she had unfortunately witnessed it many times. Dora Lee Schmidt personified boorishness to a degree that went beyond offending Deanna; she hated her.

     “I used to jog in my sixties,” Dora Lee wheezed as Deanna passed her. This was the opportunity Deanna needed to get ahead and win one for the walkers!

     “Yeah, well you ain’t joggin’ anymore, sister!” Deanna huffed and clackety-clacked into the lead.

     “You, ninny! Not fair, not fair!” Dora Lee cried and began pushing wheels with a throat cleansed vigor. The cigarette, back in it’s yellow lip lock, billowed and the arms pumped but it was too late. Deanna and her lopsided walker made it first. She stood victoriously at the finish line, pumping a fist in the air.

     “Take that, moose!” she whispered.

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excerpt from Dick Lovely

     I scream in utter agony. My sweat-soaked body shudders and I strain at the ropes that hold me in the chair. The big Chinaman with the eyepatch is pushing the tiny shards of needle-sharp bamboo under four of my fingernails. I haven’t been in this much pain ever, even after taking a Commie bullet in Korea. I cry out for the big Chink to stop but see only evil malice smiling back at me through the solitary, slanted eye. Then the dimly lit basement starts to spin and I mercifully start to go to Dick Lovely Bye Bye Land…

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excerpt from Dick Lovely

     Mort Jackson didn’t think of himself as a bad man. Oh, he did some bad things for dough these days but didn’t lots of guys? The half-naked girl laying on the kitchen table, stirred.

    She moaned and he slapped her face to make sure she was still in La-La Land. She had taken the hot spoonful of rocket juice in her vein, like a jazz player. She said her name was Pinky. Sure it is, he thought. Well, Pinky was plump and liked the dope. He knew the man he called X, would be pleased. Mort just wished X would get here, so he could leave with his hundred bucks.

     X looked and sounded, like a circus freakshow. With a melted face and an incoherent lisp, Jackson figured the man must’ve been burned in some chemical fire. Because that was X’s business, chemicals. Anyway, X liked the doped up dames. He’d been supplying the heroin and Mort supplied the ladies. And, Mort got paid handsomely for them. He didn’t know what X did to them or where they ended up after. He didn’t care. This was his only racket now.

————————-

     Out on a dark side of the street, I lit up a cigarette in the Buick. I’d seen Jackson take the floozy up to the second floor apartment but no one had come in or out since midnight.

    “Aah, here we go…” I whispered as a set of headlights appeared in my rearview.

    A black Packard sedan pulled up in front of the building and a gorilla in a tux got out to open the rear door. The man who got out was illuminated under the street light for only a couple of seconds. It was enough for me to nearly choke on my smoke!

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