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Train Tramp | That Firework | A Walk in Nias Train Tramp and Other Works (cont.) |
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Also this month: - You Can't Go Home Again, Again |
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That Firework That firework. The one in the small Guatemalan village. I never thought of it until now. I climbed the dust snaked road (that night) with the dusk baked sky spraying a painted avalanche behind me miles over the lake, like some kind of nuclear sneeze. That firework. Thru semi-parted eyes at sunset I look toward the Indian Ocean to see an explosive pinwheel spinning light. Sit grasping at powder like the black of a smoke signal waiting to be seen. That firework. Through the chimney choke of Texas garbage we rode in Kim's Saturn as fast as rubber tires will allow, avoiding the potential breath of refined air. One blast, maybe accompanied by a suicide bombers petite twisting fingers, turns out to be a friendly birthday celebration. But nobody trusts a good time anymore. |
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Train Tramp | That Firework | A Walk in Nias |
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