Words on Paper

         Jerry sat on a bench in the commons under a live oak.  Newton’s apples.  Musgraves.  Sandwich shop, where he took breaks from the crush of orders.  Downtown.  Students milling around blue bookstore.  Spiders swept clean.  Corners drab yellow parapets initiating veiled references.  Jerry takes a 1920’s Cars book from a shelf.  Clean scent of flowers.  Flower print sundress.  Sunglasses and lipstick.  Reminds me of the army.  Battle lines drawn.  Hiram, you were there.  A premonition.  The Indian who got away.  What’s it all for anyway? 
         Professor Shirley.  Precious seconds.  Hate to burst your bubble hon.  These days you never know.  Hate to do that to you.  I never meant to hurt you.  All these things we ask in respect for something yet to happen.  That’s all I can say.  Why did you say that in particular?  You’ll never remember me?  How about fuck you.  Remember Hiram.  Dried up paps.  Mumbles.  “What?”  Keep walking bitch. 
         Hiram tickles her.  Sees everyone for what they are.  “Who said?” Always asking this one question, as if rhetorical.  “I can swim.  I can swim.”  So what? You lopsided ostrich head. 
         “This one’s on me,” said Shirley.
         Hiram enters the frey.  “Not to worry darling, we’ve got lice shampoo.”
         Shirley’s dog whines as Mel picks off the lice.  “Why don’t you get this damn dog some shots?”
         Seminal influences include the wolf.  Millions of years ago, in a land far, far away, lived a wolf named Wolfie.  What big teeth you have.  Better to eat you with, my dear.  Wolfie wags his tail and looks into Shirley’s eyes.
         Commons.  Late now.  Yellow light is lazy.  People used to park here you know.  Mrs. Danforth sat in her parlor, opulent in her transgressive behavior.  A large picture of Uncle Musgraves stares stony eyed into the space before.  Mrs. Danforth?  “Are you there?”  Jerry sits with her, afraid to ask why.  Jenny comes down the stairs.  “Hi, jenny.”  What are you doing here?  Kind of like to.  Would you mind?
         “I’m going to the store mother,” said Jenny.  She leaves in a flourish of eyes.  I love that girl.
         Somewhere in the distance.  Jenny’s retributional manner attracts all the boys.
         “I came in to get out of the rain of course,” said Jenny.  Her sodden dress perambulates the room somewhere over the rainbow.
         “Why do you torture us Jenny?”  The man in the gray suit with patched elbows said.
         “Oh, Ms. Jenny, how is your father?”  said the shopkeeper’s son.
         Jenny twirls her umbrella. 
         “I don’t know what you boys are talking about.”  She walks over to the meat counter.  “I need two pounds of ground chuck, chuck.”
         I’m no Charlie Brown.  “Here you go madam,” He hands her the blood soaked package.
         
         “We always come here!”  said Delilah with a sigh.
         The campground.  Bright rocks.  Heavy.  Shadowed with moss.  Shade.  BBQ  grills turned by the sun.  Full of ashes.  Dougan gets out of the car with a heavy slam.  Damn kids.  He stands in his white tennis shorts, powerful bunched muscles.  A field of cows in the distance looks like a mural.  Like the one on the side of Chester’s Grocery.  Band was loud.  Echoing off the building walls.  Hot dogs and pepsi.  Products available upon request of vendors. 

         Now all we got is this grill soaked in lighter fuel.  Dougan strikes a match and the charcoal begins to burn.  Small flame grows.  Delilah looks over from doll.  “Daddy!  Daddy!”  she points at the flame.  Marge sits in a one piece bathing suit in a lawn chair.  She looks up from a magazine.  “Why don’t you turn that flame down honey?”  Dougan’s face contorts.  Because it’s a charcoal fire, honey.  He smiles.
         The water smells of chlorine.  Teen age lust.  Left before it gets hot.  Rubber tubes full of air suspended on a fence.  Lifeguard on duty.  The tall chair sits empty.  The clubhouse has a wasps’ nest from the previous season dead in an outside corner.  Dougan hits the golf ball through a miniature windmill.  “Hah.” Delilah says, “Can I try?” and stumbles on a protruding rock.  “Careful honey,” says Marge.  The day is fading.  The sun sits low in the white sky.  Neon lights brighten the main drag.  Traffic jam going home.