The Trailer Park

written by me and Mickey Beaver

You waltzed into my life like Fred Astaire, dear
You charmed me with that smile and those big blue eyes
I fell for you so fast it made my head spin
Then I found out that you’d been tellin’ me lies.

Now don’t come ‘round here tellin’ me you’re sorry
You’re a two-timing son of a gun, I know it’s true
The neighbors are out in the yard and gettin’ nosy
I’d get the hell outta dodge if I were you

(Chorus)

I’m nobody’s fool, I play by my own rules
And I guarantee my bite is worse than my bark
I don’t fight alone. Boy, you’re on your own.
‘Cause mess with me and you get the whole trailer park

It’d prob’ly be good if you get your things and go now
Take your charming smile and leave me be
I’ve heard enough to last me for a lifetime
Keep on tellin’ me lies and you will see

(Chorus)

I’m nobody’s fool, I play by my own rules
And I guarantee my bite is worse than my bark
I don’t fight alone. Boy, you’re on your own.
‘Cause mess with me and you get the whole trailer park

I ain’t gonna fight alone. Boy you’d best get gone
Mess with me and you get my whole trailer park

The Geometry of Death

As the final volume of the lungs is emptied,

The body ceases to exist

In this three-dimensional world.

Placed within a rectangular prism

To decay and return to dust.

Unless, of course, the means are there

To provide a less stark container –

Something more ornate, perhaps –

With curves instead of angles.

Size of the grave is calculated,

The volume of dirt removed.

Once the prism is buried,

There should be extra volume of dirt that

Remains.

Rows upon parallel rows of headstones

Dot the landscape of the countryside.

Order is given to the dead,

Points allotted for them

Throughout the hills and valleys of our world.

Existence on this plane had ended.

The only remaining question is what lies

In the next dimension.

Summer Romance

**Inspired by the Adrienne Rich poem “Diving Into the Wreck”

Deep, dark tans require long hours
Of soaking up the sun while
Covered in thick layers of coconut oil.

Like bees to honey
The teenage boys are attracted to the scent.
A boy carrying a beer meets a girl carrying a camera and
A trashy novel in which his name appears.
And lust – or maybe even love – run rampant
On the sandy shores.

That’s how we met – you and I
On that steamy, sweaty Saturday in June.
And here we are today
On this chilly November Tuesday
A lifetime of beachfront memories
Windblown and weak
From the hurricanes of life.

We are, I am, You are
By cowardice and courage
The ones who find our way back to this scene
Carrying a knife, a camera, a book of myths
In which our names do not appear.