A hot wind curls the leaves
and chases the dogs digging
deep into the
dry soil.
I live in the gut of the bright failure
called America. I live
in
this hell named Nebraska.
It's one hundred and seven today
and
grasshoppers from outer
space are dancing in my brain.
The air-conditioner
is broke
so I run a tub of cold water
and submerge every half
hour.
There's a wet trail from the bath
to the couch and nearby
fan.
The air is heavy with grain dust.
The "wheaties" are up from
Oklahoma
with their caravan of combines.
I crave winter. I want a
blizzard
that blinds me to my fellow man.
These are my dark
times.
Every other day I grieve for the me
that was and every man or
woman
I see fills me with contempt.
Nine out of ten Skins in town
are
hang-around-the-fort welfare addicts.
Every weekend their
violence
and drunken wretchedness
fills the county jail, but I'm
far
beyond embarrassment because
the white people are even worse.
Varied
branches of that inbred, toothless
mountain trash in
"Deliverance,"
settled here and now own
the bank and most
businesses.
It's undeniably true that these
white people in
Cowturdville
could be hillbillies except for
the fact that these are The
Plains.
Drive on, rednecks, to the edge
of your flat world and
fall
down to a better hell.
Every single thing about this
town is
sadly second-rate
and I haven't been laid
in more than two years
and
there's this fat lady
with varicose veins who
calls me late at
night
and begs me to come over
to her trailer for a drink.
Here, in
this Panhandle town,
farm kids speed desperately up
and down the main drag
wearing
baseball caps backwards and throwing
gang signs they've seen on
the tube
and their parents, glad they're old
and tired, truly believe
that
those pictures we're now getting
from Mars have meaning.
As far as
I can tell, I'm one of the few
people in Cowturdville who's gone
to
college and I often wish I
never had, but Christ on a pogo
stick . . . I
think I'm starting to like
it here in this American
heartland.
Thunderheads are forming
and the sweet-ass rain
of
forgiveness is in the air.