crossing the railroad tracks the pastor arrived at an old post-war bungalow residence of miss maybel who in her prime was much sought after by a number of the town’s most charming and handsome men of color but she had said no to all saying i’ve fought for women’s rights civil rights and looked after white folks’ homes and their children so i don’t have time or energy to look after anyone else but myself age took her suitors some time ago as well as most of her women friends she didn’t make it to good friday service so pastor decided to stop by she didn’t answer the door but it was open calling in he thought he heard her so he entered pale sitting in a chair was maybel death even makes a man of god stop and evaluate life but he quickly resumed his role and asked if she was ready to meet her maker with her last inaudible breath she answered
after
a blood pressure rising
shopping outing
to
costco
i
dropped by
aunt bea’s
to
share
a few items
i
thought
she might
enjoy
aunt bea
said
i went
there
once
but
decided not
to
return
since
i almost lost
a limb
reaching for
one of those
free samples
they
pass out
seems
the fellow
behind me
hadn’t eaten
for the last decade
and
was willing
to
kill for
a vienna sausage
he pushed me aside
like
a cruise passenger
disembarking
after
four consecutive sea days
it took
several days
for
the bruises
to heal
i still
find it strange
that
our humanity
can be
reduce
to
primal behaviors
with
such
low-level
pavlovian
stimuli
tourist items
manufactured in china
for
the local market
replicated
indigenous art
sold in
riverbank stalls
by
part-time natives
natives
carving out
an existence
in
a one percent world
complaints
issued
by
travelers
who’ve
already
sold their collective humanity
they are
the commune
of
anesthetized day-trippers
who
outline
verbally
over
an air-conditioned lunch
the crass nature
of
indigenous commerce
commerce
that
replicates
the
world
that provided
their passage
to
this
riverside
market
