New Poem: THE ROAD TO MANKINS

 get in the car with me

 we’ll take Highway 25 from Electra

 past the United Methodist Church 

 past the Memorial Hospital

 going a number of miles

 until we reach the four-way stoplight 

 where I pull to the right and park 

 >

 see the amusement park rides

 all in pieces and sleeping 

 this is where fun goes to hibernate 

 maybe the rides will go to other towns

 or perhaps they’ll be sold for scrap 

 >

 son, get back in the car

 you just learned an important life lesson

 don’t assume things will stay the same

New Poem: PARKING LOT HEROES

 out in front of the Dairy Queen 

 at the intersection of Highways 25 and 287

 youthful male giants once stood as colossi

 astride the welcoming landscape of small town 70s

 naked streaking all the way to White’s Auto

 fights where karate was defeated by groin kick

 Kiss and Led Zeppelin (sometimes Herbie Hancock)

 provided background music from 8-track car stereos 

 >

 their world couldn’t hold back change

 some graduated, others did not

 one or two left town ahead of baby births 

 the Dairy Queen died so Texas One Stop could live

 White’s Auto is now a Dollar General

 the colossi are now grandparents 

 the youth of today drive their giant trucks

 get their provisions from One Stop

 and drive away fast with trucker hat country 

 as CD and FM stereo background music of choice 

 blasts away their anxieties over nothing being certain anymore 

New poem: CLASSIC TEXAS

I took a good look around my hometown
of vacant lots and empty buildings
but drove too slow and a policeman followed me
in a police SUV up to a stop sign
where the driver to the right
ran through another stop sign
>
and the policeman didn't chase that driver
but turned right after we turned left
>
we then drove to the family home
after passing by junior high
turned into eight-year school
because someone persuaded the town
to close the elementary school
and build what looked like converted trailers
on the junior high property
>
the billboards on the highway
paint my hometown
as a cozy place
where tourists can exit
and spend an hour or two
>
once upon a time,
until around 1969,
it qualified as that place
>
now take a good look around
then see the policeman behind you
and prepare to maybe get a ticket
so the town can have money
to keep breathing

New poem: WICHITA FALLS BLUES

 fiftysomething man
 sits far away from the heat and drought
 reads the Twitter post
 from a young Wichita Falls Texas resident
 about how the city is now known
 for drinking recycled "pee water"
 while waiting for rain
 >
 I thought Kevin Costner
 consuming his own body fluids
 in WATERWORLD
 would always be science fiction,
 muses the former Wichita Falls resident
>
 imagining a young man
 going to the Kemp Public Library
 for a few hours of air-conditioned refuge
 passing by the front door sign:
 DON'T BRING YOUR GUNS IN HERE!
>
 it wasn't exactly this way
 when the fiftysomething man lived there
 long long before the abundance of heat
 and the lack of water
 and the tax base shrinking
 and the schools closing
 and the Grand Old Party politicians
 broadcasting and e-mailing
 messages of hate and fear
 plus appeals for campaign cash
 from the relative comfort of Austin
>
 seeding poisonous rain clouds
 that the city of Wichita Falls--
 whether you like it or not--
 can certainly do without
 as citizens wait and pray
 for the real thing to come along

New poem: MY SIXTIES.

Here's to memories:




twelve-ounce ten-cent cokes



in paper cups,



the giant-sized Superslide in Wichita Falls,



a copy of RUBBER SOUL



my mother bought me



for Valentine's Day,



Saturday (and sometimes Sunday) matinees



at the Grand Theater,



a rare dinner at the snack bar



of the bowling alley



across from the old Methodist Church,



occasional punishments,



an older brother I was too young to know,



teachers who liked me,



teachers who didn't,



true friends,



bullies in both child and adult sizes,



swimming lessons,



father who survived



an on-the-job accident



and had to have



a plate in his head,



comic books, candy and Fanta Orange



at the drugstore,



waiting downstairs at the Bethania Hospital



while my grandmother was dying,



listening to 45s of "Heroes and Villains"



and "Sunshine Superman" far away



from contact with the Summer of Love,



being loved more than I realized at the time.