those things’ll kill ya

this little parcel

candy-striped like an old-school

nurse.

pay him my money

get on my way

I tuck this little parcel

into my shirtsleeve pocket and

walk out into the rain.

past the oil puddles outfront

the Barrio

and into the woods where it’s flooded

and fine.

20 of these long, brown

&skinny things, no filter like

they’ve no beginning and no end.

I light one up and ’98’s with me

the rain, that Christmas

the impossibility of

everything.

you taking me by the hand

in the cab

with “I’m on Fire” on

out front

the Wagon Wheel.

back at the hotel,

it was real Love at last

right down to the  blueprints of

treachery&ruin

within the plans we both laid.

I’ve been out here in the rain too long

the creek’s risen and its filling

my shoes.

it’s only water and mud but

I thought I was safe from

this memory.