Here is my poem "Buicks" that got pubbed in Penmanship Mag
Buicks
He loves the life of others lives
The talk of tours down beautiful rivers
And the distance your head gets in moving
His buick is the color sky sometimes makes
With grass around the tires
The oil is changed though
And he knows it’s gonna move
To find California someday
Reaching back
Recovering his fermenting sight
In the finery of alcohol
His father, taught ancient history
Doesn’t drink like him
Nor wear a belt
But his kitchen smells so good
Like the South
And the tanning of pigs
In black heavy pans
The air is edible
His father is dying though
Like the South
From tanning pigs
And something took his life too
The house sits over there now
Groaning in the weeds
A silenced out violence
Like the Roman Coliseum
But thats when they lived beside me
In 1992
