harvey and marvels

it was harvey and marvel to the north
not like it mattered to my feet or mind if i wanted thru
their field of cows ever since they shot our dog
when i was a baby or later dad brought home
the squab for mom to bbq i took care of
the anthills with gasoline and firecrackers and cleaned the highway
of empty cans that their weenie dog could get
stuck in they had steep stairs with carpet
across just a ways was the split rail
which had cockfighting in the basement i was told it was
no nonsense on union and 51
where dad put his plants in the pines it was
a marvel no one saw those nocturnal angels
peppered on barn beams
noodled way different not like it mattered
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north down union on the gravel road
years of xmas trees, blackberry buckets, barefoot jogs,
magazine subscription cold calls,
learning to drive the datsun wagon,
walks. a backway home, later.
south on union were a few amigos, for a few years.
and the intersection a mile out
where busboys drank, leaning toward insurrection.
late show burdundy,
the scorpions or rush or van halen nothing in a stew of stars
and more oil underfoot than anywhere on planet earth
with our firebird, 280z, porsche, or vega
haunting midnight after work in the country
where headlights say hello a mile before
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the stansfields had the brick yawn at the foot of the drive
to our three acre hippy haven and owned the
steak lobster coke and shrimp place a hundred yards away
with no windows a cinderblock shelter themed
in spats and formal attire playing joe jackson or count basie