Sonoma Matress, Inc.
a coming storm not a passing squall a gale
green flashes on the horizon sunset-cold
menacing dark furious wind beats the bushes
--Here, Lulu, smoke some dope, it makes the
wait timeless, the cold bareable,
the ride that comes all the sweeter
just beyond us a Volvo wagon shudders to a stop
the cracked window exudes barn smells sloping up from
the cargo trunk a tight-rolled rug hangs over the back seat
--Joe's the name. Moved the whole family
to the country about a year ago. My wife,
'Maggie said, 'It'll be good for the kids and us.'
--Makes sense to me. I grew up in East L.A.
nothing under my feet except concrete 'till I was 10.
Spent that summer in Baja. Changed my life.
change like the storm strikes at the heart
trapped between rug and backpacks held tight
change distrrbs my normal condition
--I wasn't so sure about leaving the city.
Worried I wouldn't find work. And almost didn't.
But, now, I do a little construction 3 days a week.
--Can't beat that. Live in the country. Work part
time. Great life. Gives you a chance to commune.
Know what I mean? Do what you like.
--What I like to do is build things. Out of wood, mostly.
When I get a stash, I go into Berkeley and sell what
I make on the street. We get by. Bought that rug this time.
soft to the touch giving way blue and gold Persian
like the sky but warm safe secure promising
a haven cheek rests against rug hear change me
Cloverdale, Inside the Owl Cafe--station 5
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