The Country Diary Of a Subway Conductor

"O get him out of there!" What if it cost 25c

to wake up in the morning? A dollar, ten dollars?

I'd pay it all the way to the poor house. It's not made

if it's made in Roanoke. Night pulling up in front of

the house like a bus. It came at me with shears. Her

sweater had faces, famouse faces knitted all over it.

The porch swing ticked off Central Daylight time.

"How many hours do you think it'll take me to smoke this

cigarette?" she said with a smile. The smell of fried

food came drifting out one of the castle windows.

"Lets go around back" I said "my brother burried some

stuff back there." We ducked down and walked through

the black bushes. My shoe made a sucking sound in

the turf. "He can afford anything" I said "he's got

dogs that blow on trumpets." "Priests!" she cussed.

Thunder cracks over Ben Franklin's shop. Who wrapped

my dreams in a blanket and led them outside to the black

book in the yard? "Hey what indian tribe occupied

southern california? They were a lucky bunch of fellers!"

Sting Bible, More Sea Bible, Knur & Spell. In moments

downhill, towards sleep in the stillwater shop. Imagining

places I was almost sure I'd never been & had taken to

assuming were the memories of my grandfather somehow

deposited in my mind. They were there and gone, just before

I could get my bearings, catch any names or find out

where the hotel was. Just a pile of glass shavings that

could never be reassembled into the gone order

of buildings & the shade puring off of them. "WATER!"