eighty-five

5/17/05

she called me scarface
because my forehead had this awful magnetic
attraction to sharp metal objects
like mobile home skirting
and the bumpers of pickup trucks
and oh god she couldn’t be more right
for the July sun and cool of
our summer pools
are what’s in those lines
on my face
and inside these eyes
that can never let go
of the scents of deck-stain
and fresh cut grass
and the bullhorn blare, gilded glare
of endless Tom Petty flowing ‘round us
as we started the day and
lived it long
as it was
in those times; endless and smiling and always bright
for the clouds
simply didn’t cover us

we were lords of our realm
Colonial Estates
trailer park on the southeast
corner of town

and it’s that home
which I take with me
on the road
to my own