Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Heather Haley


I know it's wrong but I love you . . .
love getting our kicks together.
I can't keep my hands off you.
I know it's wrong, but I love you,
evil that is mine, evil de rigueur.

I love you. I love to crawl inside you
so smooth and automatic.
I love to cruise down the boulevard
on a long, languid night
salt on the sea air
eucalyptus leaves
black leather bucket seats
me so cool inside.

Moonlight humping in the back seat.
Time to lose it, time to cut milk teeth
on someone's anatomy
before they became the jaws of death
before I became too driven.

It was love: gallant, silver, visored
Pontiac Chieftain De Luxe.
It was love: cherry Mercury Comet
'Haley's Comet,'
insides burning so much blue
the street urchins
couldn't stomach you.
It was love: white Audi Fox
that ran like a deer
and broke down
like a neurotic girlfriend
every one hundred miles.

Dark sapphire blue Plymouth Duster
carload of virgins
lowlands of Surrey
hell-bent on losing our season
all our deeds
and the unseen road
slick with Calona Red.

Sudden slow mo fish-tailing
wipers taunting, groaning
now you're gonna die
now you're gonna die
now you're gonna die
now you're gonna die
Duster spinning, sailing to
a lone hardwood
gleaming in the headlights
a chorus of screams
rising in decibel, rising in awe.

I crept through the brambles
right arm a dog's hind leg
cursed, Jesus, tore myself
from clinging blackberry vines
hands of the Reaper like claws
clutching, not quite ready to let go.
Human blood puddling, bodies strewn,
staggering, crying out, Mama.

I know it's wrong but I love you.
I still love you. You're a Volvo now
I'm a big mama, suburban sub Rosa
soccer mom, cranking up Bjork's "Army of Me"
cursing out the cretins hogging the road.
I love you, high maintenance metal Venus.
You get me where I'm going.

I'm a lovesick woman driver
in dread of the bus
afraid of dying in a car.
I love to crawl inside you
though I've nearly died for the pleasure.

I love you, and you know, I hate you.
I hate you for belching and farting.
I hate that slimy black Puffins
lay white, speckled eggs
on tarred and feathered beaches.
I hate you, you brutal, life-blood sucking
hunk of regurgitated steel.

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