Sunday, November 30, 2008



They had reached some area of the world that seemed to be entirely made up of billboards. As if billboards sprung out of the yellow earth like the kudzu vine strangling the hillsides. What’s that mean? She pointed at a large white sign with blue lettering. I mean, what’s it selling. He leaned over her shoulder and with both hands on the wheel still ducked so he could read it. God, he answered. It’s selling God. She stared at him and said, Sometimes I wish I could write you a letter. A long one with real stamps. She was watching his hands hold the wheel so gracefully, without any fear at all. What would it say? She looked at the view past his profile and the cars careening close and said, Oh I don’t know, it’d probably just say, Remember that time we were in the car and there was a billboard selling God? I’d like to be back there now. Trapped in a tiny car talking about nothing. The billboards went on for miles and when she woke up there were none, just trees going by in the dark.

Tuesday, November 04, 2008

Go Obama!

Subway after Voting

Beat your drum and furl your fist,
every glance is a catalyst.

Claim your body stamped and sent,
straighten up what once was bent.

Call the sparrows and the bells
to add their wishes to the well.

Give your tongue a good luck lick
for every grin is patriotic.