a day like this
without breathe or
reason to be
my last renter
came to get the junk trailer
he left in my back yard
was mad at me cause
I threatened to sell it
I didn't help
was sitting inside feeling
bad, strange
the night before woke up
my lungs had collapsed
gasping
couldn't sleep
lying down
had gone to a dance
reunion of a band
called The Dusty Chaps
outside
everyone kicking-up dust
dancing the polka, not that Polish stuff
I knew in Cleveland
Solon Polka
but Southwest
dancers moving counterclockwise
direction of mathematical
and spiritual
rotation
I couldn't dance
felt exhausted
Rita sd
"Are you out of shape!"
th Chaps
they were popular in the seventies
sang thr big hit
"It's 110 in Gila Bend
In Buckeye it's 102
Summer's here & now's th time
To fuck you like a crazed horny toad!"
or something like that
I had pneumonia
sick for six months
two years after that
every winter
coughing till I choked
finally has gone away
but weakened, yes
on days like today
can feel it
deep in my chest
this last weekend
my next door neighbor
Linda
died in her house
of a heart attack
was found the next afternoon
by a friend
she was watching TV
this weekend her
sixtieth birthday
had slowly become
acquainted she
inspired me to begin a garden
by her yard full of flowers
I wonder
what show she was watching
what bright lights
flickering over cooling skin
flashing in blank eyes
I remember a line
by Jeff Filipski
"does death do dirt dance"
& I say
yes
it does
twice around
trampled ground
a two step
a waltz
in three quarter time
a little chicken scratch kick
& a puff of dust
for all our choking lungs
