Last Stop, The Bank

We sent our loving pink postcards with silly pictures from the tanned fields smoothed by wacky, southern winds, carved by asphalt.

My car was cleaned by men and machines. You thought the machines with furry, stingy brushes might scratch the car or hurt us. The dryers worked to compress us into nothing, but the car looked slick.  The car ran better when it was shiny and black again.

The man at the dry cleaners in the building that looks like a Dairy Queen was super nice. My shirts were crisp. I told you I would not want to work with people’s clothes all day, and you said it wouldn’t be too bad.

God was hiding in a tricky spot. We never found God, but you were in a hurry.

Motorcycles were warm and your green coat floated in the dry river bed. The helmets were like the black salad bowls at our wedding.

It was close, but we all jammed brakes and stopped in time in the left lane so we could see what happened on the bridge on the horizon. The man with lumber for new doghouses crashed his truck. There were many firemen on the scene and I wondered if there was a dangerous chemical on the wood.

The tube at the bank drive-through sucked me away, and the nice lady thanked us for waiting.  The tube was clean. It was a nice way to go.


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  1. #1 by Evelyn on March 21, 2011 - 10:05 pm

    ok, AGAIN, I loved this.
    Experimental Fiction, you are the man.
    this is the most amazing image right here…
    “The tube at the bank drive-through sucked me away, and the nice lady thanked us for waiting. The tube was clean. It was a nice way to go.”
    it seems like going in and out of reality. Almost Hunter Thompson-esque.

    • #2 by Carl on March 21, 2011 - 11:36 pm

      Thank you, my friend. I really feel at home with these. If I spend too much time editing them, I add to them and start to melt the iceberg. You have it right on the reality…Except all of it is my reality 🙂 It is strange to feel at home with something. I never feel at home with poetry but I let it out anyway.

      • #3 by Evelyn on March 22, 2011 - 9:53 am

        It sounds like your reality.
        yea, respect the iceberg, will ya?
        really love this. write more.

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