Archive | August, 2012


16 Aug

Staying with a friend in town

I watched a leopard slug traverse the gutter

near my car tire

I had forgotten there were slugs in Michigan

For a few seconds I felt transported to Humboldt County

on California’s north coast


I looked up and saw the old woman across the street

mowing her wide lawn on a riding mower

She reached one side and turned

The mower said Toro across its rear

She was a citizen who had vociferously supported the turbines

the hostile takeover of Riverton Township by a corporation

who had buffaloed the county commissioners

who pulled the wool over their eyes with scams like

“The Good Neighbor Fund”

Everyone awake in Riverton recognized that the corporation

was a shitty neighbor

worse than the worst neighbor you’d ever had

To start, their easement agreements required that we

give up our freedom of speech

I would not give up my freedom of speech

for a lousy two-thousand dollar payoff


I watched the slug make his slow way toward the curb

toward grass and nourishment

He moved at his own speed

He wouldn’t be rushed

I wouldn’t be rushed either

I refused to be given

the Bum’s Rush


My bones felt heavy

my joints creaky with advancing age

I drove away

careful not to crush the slug

More consideration than the commissioners

had given us


Get my novel, TWO-HEADED DOG, here: 

500-Foot-Tall Turbines

14 Aug

500-foot tall turbines are being erected in the country

in the township where my uncle once plowed with mules

It’s against the wishes of the people

against the tents of the Comprehensive Plan

but Plutocracy has replaced democracy

How’s that for a poetic line?


My novel, Two-Headed Dog, is available here: 


14 Aug

Entire populations perish in an earthquake

and, closer to home, crazed gunmen kill

 moviegoers, the holy at prayer, toddlers at play

children eating hamburgers under golden arches

and college students earnestly advancing their lives

The only thing that distracts Ed is a report

on Lady Gaga’s heat-seeking bra

He wonders: how does that work?

What’s the technology behind that?

Hot sex is so distant a memory that he lacks the

nerve points that would give him sensory orientation

He’s like a fatty who’s never made it off the couch,

watching the Olympics

Ed has had breasts in his hands,


but not a celebrity’s

not even somebody locally famous  

Shit, he says, rousing himself

He gets out of the chair for the sake of getting out of the chair

Lady Gaga’s heat-seeking bra, the thought won’t leave him

He’s obsessed, transfixed

but his mind can’t find any traction

He stares out the window of his farmhouse

at the drought-parched corn