you could be mistaking swollen catfish for
deflated football, commiserating about
Groucho Marx in a hot Texas border town
if the evens go north to south
and the odds go east to west
then I-2 is the end of the road
sits a big fat catfish dryin’ in the scrub
lookin’ just so like you could’a set ‘im
down in the water an’ he’d’a swam away
kickin’ up corn husks amid grasshoppers
on the frontage road with trailers draped
with sheriff candidates in tan galon hats
as Mendez Mobile Trailer Washout truck
circles the self-storage parking lot swish
swishin’ agua in the tank shimmers in the
eyes of parched truckers commiserating about Groucho: “here’s to our girlfriends and wives
… may they never find out about each other”
if the evens go north to swish swish swish
and the odds go east to west swish swish
then there will never be anything past I-2
35 North: Dallas Texas. Dollars Taxes.
Groucho said it best: littering tamale husks
plastic wrappers and catfish alike. whatever
it is
I’m against
it
