What I Learned in College

My winter breath mouths Morse code--
Orion's belt always a beacon--
a solitary walk back to the car.

I am the protagonist of my story.

The North Star--
pinnacle of the Big Dipper--

my northern star from Lake Minnetonka.

When I was little, I thought it was our star,
meant for Minnesota.

I've always loved the sound of
high heels on the linoleum.

Sunday mornings in the kitchen--
coffee with the funnies, and Mom
is dressed up for church.

A grown woman can wear high heels.

My teacher used to tell me,
(out in the hall, one hand on my shoulder)
"Don't roll your eyes at me--
You have an attitude problem, young lady."

Young women are prone to "attitude problems."
Add ten years--what would my teacher say?

This is what I have learned in college.

An authoritative strut--how to walk in high heels.
How to question--
how to tilt my head upward on a clear night.
How to wear an olive beret--style.

"Too talkative in class."
How to be alone.

May 2005

two-liners

generic as a stamp
go mail yourself



I'll leave you my Nag Champa.
By the time I get back, it should smell alright.



slide, pop--slopping sweet
sinks the seven ball, side pocket



you can bite--but only when it's
dark out



He shakes his ten-dollar bill in a leathered hand
studded with carats, impatient for the check.



They brought me my cat--dead and
frozen--and I thought they would kill me.



The church is like the bank--
It's not actually real.



May 2005

Sour Salt

"Hello, just the two of you?"
I slide the menus on the table and nearly spill the water.

"Yes--I'd like a margarita, please, on the rocks."
Someone looks like she needs a drink.

"Alright, and you, sir?"
Darts fly.  "Just give me a minute."

The blender whirrs, muffling their crossfire.
The limes are past their prime, but they won't notice.

"Here you go, ma'am.  Have you decided, sir?"
"I'll just have a margarita.  I don't think
we're going to order anything else."
"No," she says, "we'll just have drinks."

"Another round?"
His brow furrows.
"No, we'll take the check."

She shoves the ten dollar bill at me.
He fretfully pats for his wallet.  "Come on--"
"No, don't--"

He huffs with exaggeration.
I take the money from
her shaking hand.

I bus their table, and see them
arguing in front of the window.
The woman locks her eyes with me for a moment--
I was staring.  She starts the car.  I get back to work.

May 2005

red wine

I.
They served white wine
with the tuna loaf.
I told them,
"I prefer red wine."



II.
I fell in love when I was
hung over from
shitty red wine--
the kind in the box.



III.
She likes to sit
erectilely, she says.  You know,
straight back and all.  Good posture
shows class, and red wine.


May 2005

Viking State Bank

bad bank news
a dark cloud settles
over my furrowed brow

thinkmoneyworry

if thirty is the new twenty
no wonder i feel old

responsibility
haunts my closet
absent skeleton

in the hole like
my bank account
and these bastards
at Viking State.

badcreditstinkingstomach

"We are here to help," says the brochure.
"Maybe you own your own car?" Right.
"Privileged Status," says the brochure.

Do young hands hold
dirty dollars?

Does age warrant respect
like an automatic teller spits cash?

"I'm sorry, you just don't have
any real collateral."

I scorn your
professional attitude,
your smug perma-smile.

"Must be nice to have
bankers' hours, huh?"

May 2005

KWLC: audio interface

(r)EJECT: I label myself.
       (another Friday night underground)

Down in the station, alone, I am in control.
I am a rosy child clawing through the
moist soil in search of her very own roots.

Alone and dirty under (the) ground,
      I glance at the clock, an old LP,
while recording the readouts--
      liquid crystal display.


transmittor: ON
      communication? life signs?
      positive, though weak in number.

The pen taps itself nervously
      on the clipboard.

Who will interface w/ me?
      do MY interfacing--
my power level dwindles
      (two years of my life spent here)
sputters, and the signal fades.

Pin back those lucid bangs,
     BARE my eyes:
self-discovery through vinyl.

Volume surges in the headphones--
            1240 AM (gold):
gilded cherubs of sound.

May 2005

Highway 52

"It ain't cheep being cool"
blasts the red iron bull--
painted with small yellow chicks--
rumbling along my right;

we head south toward Iowa.
Does anything ever happen in Iowa?

I pass him on the left and wink.

His two-horned
smoke blows through
his two ears
like in the cartoons;

he hauls logs stacked
and bound together.

Salty hills roll by,
peppered with pitch cattle--

turn their heads,
chew their cud,
slow motion maple syrup.

Something happens
between the iron bull
and flat, Midwestern gusts--

my car quakes,
knuckles snowy
on the ice gray wheel.

The white sky
bleaks at me--

left to Goodwin,
right to Desdin.

I dance an empty foxtrot--
back, forth,
back, forth.

Stretch me across state lines--
the scene gets flat,
then flatter.

Blue command--
"Concentrate on Driving"

I'm in the space between
home and home--

May 2005