Junk Boy

word
not from a country song
well, why did she—
What’s not to get?
You already saw why.
which I guess I did
this girl and
that girl
and this girl’s mother saw them
she shouldn’t do that
No, really?
she coughed into her shirt
still shaking
She knows. She’d be stupid not to know.
I mean, come on.
She has no idea about anything.
I had to keep her from hitting
Maggi.
She’s out of her mind. God,
I hate my life.
she said hate like the snap of a whip
then breathed and breathed
so hard
I almost felt the heat
and my tongue moved again
my dad’s a jerk
which was so random
that I stopped while she clamped
her eyes tight shut
and let some tears squeeze out
My father’s moving out.
Soon.
She thinks he won’t,
But he will, and I’m going.
She can’t keep me anymore.
All this is way too much
to know
I thought about that
beat-up camper bus
and how right now
I wanted to be in it
She should just . . . die.
another word that cut a hole in the air
Fall off a cliff or something.
what the hell?
she growled in her
throat like a tiger
and her paste-white face
(pasty except for one red cheek)
went all pink
I don’t even know.
her eyes
didn’t stay put
in one place
her head kept moving
the whole time
she talked
She’s always on me—
“Don’t you dare, don’t you dare.”
And church. She wants me
To go to church all the time.
God, I hate that place.
I was almost going to say
I see the church from my house
and soon would spy it from
the windows
of a camper junked
in my yard
and spy
on the world
through the thick trees
to the churchyard
and beyond
but suddenly that was weird
and I made myself
not say it
waiting I guess
for me to talk
which I did not
she finally taped her
picture to the wall said
Thanks for whatever.
and walked away
grumbling and growling
to or at her mother
or herself
or maybe me
which I did too
only silently
in my head

There Was a Girl Once
I gave a ring to
when I was seven
it was second grade
near Christmas
a ring I found
on the bathroom
floor at home
it looked like
one of Mom’s old ones
dad must have
gotten mad
and thrown
it must have rolled behind
the sink
(I thought)
and he forgot
it was silver
it didn’t have a jewel but
it gleamed when I buffed it
(then I didn’t know
now I would)
I didn’t tell him
I took the ring to school
Wow, Bobby, thanks.
this girl said
when I gave it to her
the words I might have said
when I gave her the ring
didn’t come
but I hoped
she knew it meant
I liked her
God knows where
I got the idea
of rings
tv and movies and songs
about other kinds of people
(now I’d know)
later her friends came
up to me
three or four of them
She told us about the ring
You gave her.
yeah?
Is it . . .
(is it meant to say I like her? yeah)
Is it, is it . . .
Is it the ring from a bathtub plug?
from . . . what?
The rubber plug from a bathtub drain.
The ring you pull.
It looks like that.
what? no
but they laughed
Here. She says thanks—
one said
handing it back
but another said
She didn’t say that.
She said, Bobby Lang?
And then did this.
and did a fake puke
motion in the
cup of her palm
so yeah
I don’t talk to people now
I don’t do anything
but walk to school
and walk back home
except when I forget
and say something
anyway
and I said something
that afternoon
outside the art room door
I said so little
but I think it was
too much


Which Is All Fine
I’m pretty much
a thing nobody cares
about except to mock
(here’s Rusty Gold again)
They call him “Junk.”
And sometimes “Slug.”
He ain’t no hunk.
The girls say, “Ugh!”
but the question is
one question is
who’s this sudden girl
with tangled brown hair
a frayed red shirt
nearly off her shoulder
and faded jeans
who hijacked me
who tugged me in
who doesn’t like her mother
hates her in fact
and God and church
all stuff I didn’t need
or want to know
and
and
she likes a girl
I know I know
she likes a girl
but still
Still what?
I don’t know
That’s right, you don’t.
it was dumb
just dumb
so dumb
I had to get out
of there
and far away
the halls blurred past
and bright cold air washed
over me when I pushed
through the doors
and out across the lot
and toward the trail
girls
who cares
who cares
except


Except There’s Always
a girl
even from when I was small
a thing about a girl
some girl
any girl
red hair no hair
I don’t know
it’s everywhere
tv school dads internet comics songs
Which girl
Of all the girls
Is the one true girl
For me?
you’re supposed to
the whole world tells you to
you gotta find
some girl
some girl
some girl
or you won’t be normal
you won’t be right
or regular
you won’t be correct
okay I get it
but they’re probably not
and really can’t be
thinking
of
her


One Hundred and Twelve Minutes
after that
bizarro scene
I’d chucked
my backpack
on my bed and
walked out back
chewing on what
in the world
all that crazy was
supposed to mean
then
took a breath
and emptied
my head
and busted up
a dozen crates
and splintery two-by-fours
then pounded out
their nails on a stump
(nicked my knuckles
and put a neat hole
in the top
of my left thumb)
then stacked the lumber
under the deck
against the house
all this
took me till late
(a time lapse
would be cool
to look at)
it was eight by then
I shut off the flashlight
and sat on the stump
until the dark and quiet
were all there was
I breathed
the night in
wanted to climb up and
walk slow along
the trail to calm myself
but had to bandage
my thumb hole
I stood
brushed myself off
and scanned one final time
through the trees
to spot that wink of yellow
half a mile up the valley
and wondered
with no answer at all
what the thing really was
with this girl
when I turned
to go inside I saw
a hundred yards
beyond my house
exactly opposite the church
another light
a fine fiery dot
of orange
sprinkled with black
the burning ash
of a cigarette lifted
to a mouth
glowing bright
then dulling
bright then dull
a cigarette in the woods
as much as my father
smokes (and that’s a lot)
he never would
not on the trail
and hated finding butts
in the woods
They’ll kill us all.
The hopeless morons.
Firestarters.
the ash glowed lamplight bright again
Hey! It’s late.
it was my dad leaning off
the deck
watching me look
beyond our roof
Get in here.
I’m locking up.
by then
the orange light
in the woods above
from someone else
had winked itself out


Friday Came
crawling through
the window on my face
the ceiling sagged
but no more than
last night so
that was good
same face in the mirror
different shirt though
(no way could I wear again
what I’d sweated
through last night)
had an orange juice
an egg and toast
in a weak triangle
of hazy light
on the tabletop
out of the house
and on the trail
before my father woke (the usual)
something was different
a frost last night
the leaves the light
a sharpness up my nose behind
my eyes
an oak leaf
fell from unseeable branches
slowly slow
I counted seconds
then lost count
watching the leaf
dip turn float sway
but started again
it was
a minute nearly
even though