Grown and mown

(Moan and groan).

š

Every week, I can just make out his pickup truck, parked at the station under wraparound aggression: "Free men own guns" and "Politicians love gun control" (tastefully ornamented with a swastika and a hammer-and-sickle.) "Got a gun for my wife—best trade I ever made." A seasonal addition, draped over the tailgate in construction-site orange, is "Pay no income taxes," followed by a web address. I had always assumed the binding agent in the sticker glue to be testosterone. Today, I took the time to look on the dashboard. Under a pair of reading spectacles was a little book, "Finding Inner Peace through God." I pray for his sake and ours that he does.

š

Fill this baby up with anger

Pump price: peace point ninety-nine.

Ring it up with the old clangor—

No one’s life is as hard as mine!

Barreling down the road to maim

Behind a chromium-plated smile,

Automatic transmission shifting blame,

Honking and squealing mile for mile.

Who cares about a little knocking

(Of anyone not here to hear!)

Who cares about a little rocking

(Of what others may hold dear!)

With self-awareness through the roof,

We’ll drive cheap gas, compassion proof.

š

Clad in Armani, drivers of the stock market bulls bellow the profanities of the stockyards down the chute of Nassau Street on their way to the watering holes. If I don’t believe clothes make the man, why do I want to believe clothes make demands?

š

Way downtown Manhattan, in the din of the morning rush but clearly audible

above the motors and the horns… chirping. I find a spot against a pillar

where I will not be knocked over by the torrent, and scan the eaves

of the old five-story building cater-cornered across. In a minute, a bird swoops through

the skyscrapers and down to where my ears had led my eyes. I enjoy breakfast at my desk

the more knowing I don’t eat alone.