Clara Walter

I had to retire my car. It just gave out on me. I sold it to the state of California at a decent price. I consulted the smog guru Bill first. I gave him the cars symptoms. He said it could be anything. Rather than putting money into it I retired it.

            I’m bringing my Mercedes Benz out of retirement, old Clara Walter. Clara is a four door sedan made in nineteen-seventy. She’s a temperamental gal, so much so it’s nerve racking driving her. She’s kind of like a mule. Stubborn and uncooperative. But she looks nice. She’s a pretty gal, real pretty. 

Excerpt From Johnny

My Audience

I came home from work

laid on my bed

and read a book

then fell asleep

two hours later

here I am writing

to my audience

ME.

I’m the best audience

I have

I keep myself going

I applaud when necessary

I boo when I have to

when I write a good poem

I’m happy

I cheer and applaud

the poet in ME

eats it up

and bows

to ME the audience

on bad days

when there is

limited production

or when my imagination

evades ME

I’m hard on the poet

make him feel like a fool

you’re trying too hard

keep it simple, I tell him

he pretends not to hear ME

quit trying to be poetic

you sound like an academic

but once in a while

I’ll write something good

that makes it all worth it

my audience

loves the good poems

the good poems keep ME going

Every Hundred Feet

It use to be people liked to have fun, and then a thing called political correctness came into play. It nearly ruined Don Rickle’s career. You couldn’t make fun of people anymore, men had to be submissive, kids had to wear helmets, things really changed.

           The turning point for me was when Lawn Darts were banned. That’s when I knew for sure that the world was made for pussy’s. One bad toss and now know one can play. And that’s the way it works. There’s one screaming demon, and the next thing you know there’s a stop sign at every corner, and a speed bump every hundred feet.

The French Weekend

I saw the Serge Gainsbourg movie, A Heroic Life. I enjoyed it, although it was a little long. My lady friend grew impatient with it as she’s prone to do. She didn’t like the movie at all. I’d suggest the movie for the women alone.

            Something occurred to me during the course of watching the movie, and that is, anything sounds good in French. I wish I was a French songwriter I think life would be a lot easier. English is such a harsh language, but French is sweet and smooth,

            By chance I had dinner at a French restaurant last night. I don’t care what anybody says, I love the French. 

Dexter

I have a lady friend who works out at the same gym as Dexter, the actor, the character, the show.

            “I saw Dexter today. He seems like a nice guy.” 

            “He’s a serial killer.”

            “Yeah, but he seems nice.”

            I’m not a fan of the show, but my friend Jessie Sweet is. He loves it. He thinks it’s great.

            “What do you like about that show?” I asked Jessie one day.

            “I don’t know. I just relate to Dexter.”

            “You relate to a serial killer?”

            “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“Interesting.”

            I didn’t press the issue, but I was beginning to wonder what was going on inside Jessie’s head. 

Globe Arizona

Lee and I were just outside of Globe Arizona and we needed a room for the night. We ended up at the Econo-lodge, which looked nice enough on the outside. Now that I think about it didn’t look nice at all, but I wasn’t complaining. It was Lee’s call, Lee’s money, Lee’s film.

The room was cheap, forty bucks plus tax, and Lee was happy about that. When I walked into the room it looked nice enough, a little run down, not quite to my taste. There were two rooms. The first room had a queen size bed and the second room had two queen size beds. The first room was much nicer than the second room.

“Which room do you want?” Lee asked.

“I’ll take this room.” I picked the first room.

The more we looked around the more we realized the place was a dump. Lee refused to sleep in the either of the queen size beds in his room, for fear of the unknown. Instead he grabbed a cot that he kept in his car to keep his gear off the ground and slept on that. It was pretty bad. It smelled like cigarette smoke. I could smell alcohol on the sheets. We slept with one eye open.

At three in the morning I heard a car pull up. It sounded like an older car, a gangster car. I heard knocking on the door to the room next to us.

“It’s your cousin!”

“Who?”

“Your cousin!”

“What do you want?”

            The guy kept knocking, but the cousin inside didn’t answer the door. The knocker finally got back in his car and drove away.
           We woke up at six-thirty in the morning. We packed the car and hit the road.  

Family Matters

I’m going to stray away from Arizona for a moment. I still have one more story, but I’ll save it for later.

I’m a card carrying member of a Mexican-American family. It’s a good family, but as time passes it has become more and more unsettled.

            I have a cousin who is in Virginia studying to be a doctor. She’s in her fifth year now, and I’m very proud of her, as are her parents.

            I was talking to my aunt Maggie the other day, and she told me that my cousin Lily was trying to talk my Virginia cousin out of being a doctor. Lily said something about the preponderance of lawsuits and time, and money. Lily's argument was that it wasn't worth it. 
            I was sitting there listening to the story and all the while I was thinking how god damn ridiculous. I’ve never heard of such a thing. I was appalled. Only in a Mexican family will somebody try to talk you out of being a doctor.