Life in the city

St. Louis is a cruel joke. The airport temperature keeps rising as I sit studying the seams of my boots, wondering if overdressed. A rare weekend when, the weather in St. Louis will be beautiful in November.

I fly south.

A statement walks through, a young woman in too tight clothes, her legs look like tofu shoved into the mesh bags that oranges come in--every step forward gets more dangerous as her skirt inches. Finally, it gets tired and stays.

She is a polka dot in an airport of suits, and I wonder if this makes her interesting or a target.

A friend once told me that rich girls are pretty because they can afford it. I look at my half chewed nails and wonder if I'm poor.

Young men shape-up to ship-out.

They come in floods of camouflage, dress blues, and polished shoes. The old men stop them and thank them for their service. I want to too. My conflicted opinion has me silenced. I choke as they kiss their spouses goodbye. They always cry.

Modern Warfare with a hand-held, wireless controller. A warning—one level of this game may be too disturbing for you, you can skip it—I'll only ask you this last time—if only it were that easy.

Mistaken Identity
Grandpa says he hates football games. I thought you used to love them. He breathes in deeply and exhales a laugh that shakes the car. I wonder how you can feel something like that when the car is already moving. That was when I was young and cared. I cringed.

Things were not as I had remembered.

Grandma's house is a shadow:
A dark patch on the grounds casting memories that seem like lies.

On the run
The machines try to outrun the disease. Numbers being spit like a lottery of illness. Kidneys 16%, breathing 22%, soda $1.50.

The nurses cower, too afraid to save lives. A 4'11” spectre swings at them. She tries to get free. She resists and they tape her to the bed. They stab her and she yells obscenities. I'm going to go home. Don't fucking touch me.

I grab for her and can't find the sheets, her skin is transparent. I hope she knows this hand is mine. I want to break her free.

She has always been a free spirit. I see her squirm and notice the clear tentacles shooting from her limbs. And I know, they pump in the numb.

I think they have given up on her. I think they think they'd rather turn her in.

That's funny, that plane's dustin' crops where there ain't no crops.

When she sleeps I know she's running. She pants and peeps.
I run for her.

The emergency rooms part and the sun injects me with freedom.
So horribly sad. How is it I feel like laughing?

Being so close to the border allows me to believe that I've gone further than I have.
The world falls apart, Texas gets bigger. Dad keeps talking about highway construction that goes into the sky. And then I see them, so high that there are stars on the trusses.

Tumultuous Affair















Loneliness/Betrayal
I question if I'm denial.

How do we know it's not a fake? It looks like a fake. Well, one thing we know. You're no fake. You are a genuine idiot.

Grandpa tells me about the woman he used to work with in the union. He says he's glad he knew her because she hated him. He always told her that she hated him enough to pull the plug.

He wants to pull the plug, but he loves her too much.

A chorus kicks in:
She has to go to home, she'll never be the same;
Her kidneys have failed, she'll never be the same;
It's only a matter of time, she'll never be the same;
She'll never be the same.

Her personal hell smells old and broken, convalescence, plugged into her tentacles with everyone staring at her.

I know what a beautiful woman can do. Her red tongue on fire with I don't want-toos.
He sits broken, he says, I don't want anyone to say I haven't tried.

Reconciliation
Momentarily, the morphine gives way to clarity. She looks up and smiles, Well hi baby.
Then without a pause, Catatonia laughs at me and says, That's all I'll allow.

Near Death Experience
Grandma hangs in front of dead presidents. Her grip is tired.

I keep looking behind me for the Professor. The one who will shoot the bad guy and bring us to safety. The Professor who works for the FBI, the CIA, the alphabet soup.

We let go.