the first one to visit
in April just before Easter Day
as I tripped across that crack
was a 20 year old Marine
from Minnesota stationed in 29 Palms
shortly before the swine flu eruption
and soon to be 21
only three months older than my daughter, of course
she was scandalized when I copped to it,
"oh mom," and rolling her eyes
and he told me
he could hear
the corn growing
back home
when he smoked pot on a john deere tractor
while plowing row after row
and watched the red tailed hawks
widen their wings and circle low
I was an English professor previously
and now I am a devout word cunt
he found me on craigslist
not long after I posted the MILF ad
you see, my sort of boyfriend
did something that made me a little crazy
and then that boy sent pictures of himself
with sister and mom, and smiling
chaotic cramped apartment in the background,
a routine midwestern crucifix on the wall
and I texted him on and on
while my mother drove me
to the hospital
how little did he know
but it was a damn good ad, he said
and that's what caught his attention
women your age are awesome, accomplished,
uh huh, uh huh, uh huh
I took him to a ritzy party
on a Saturday during my treatment,
weekends free, you see, but carefully scripted
baby steps for me, a sip of his too strong margarita
"help yourself," I said
these people are fucking rich
look how many ponds and waterfalls
on their 160 acre property
and that resort next door, see?
Al Capone stole that from the Indians
and made it his hideout home.
That kid was quick,
strong and strong, and tall,
he could step large and wide
what of posh designer illnesses
of the interior could he know about
he wasn't even twenty-one
and I had to vouch for his I.D.
Fun, to sit by the estate's faux lake,
leaning into his solid crotch
while he lightly stroked my hair,
introduce him to my upscale friends
and watch them gag, their erudite
minds ticking, me looking a little
under the weather, perhaps, and not
too talkative while he told a writer
friend that he had read "Johnny Get Your Gun"
while sitting on an artillery tank
in Iraq just last fall
and laughed about it
better than porn,
better than the pig-butt sandwiche
or pork a la king in the MRE's,
I can't really blame her for edging away
and giving me a what-the-fuck look,
although she didn't come out and say it,
she has a best selling romance novel, too.
And I think I saw the boy,
after I nestled into him and slept,
hovering in a dream above my bed
his hands folded in GI Joe prayer
sent to stave off certain war,
keeping the bad guy away from me,
the entire country, if you want to know
it's what he's trained to do
and he's literary, too
there are good drugs
to take care of this, the doctors
said, the bad ones are what brought you down
better weapons in our fight against this
disease, the old arsenals just don't hold,
with these, we can redraw
your inner mental map, it's a wedge of
countries torn apart,
borders can always be re-drawn
and it was him, interrupting my intake
by texting jokes about his day,
all the dirty stuff guys will say
when surrounded only be their fellow men
while I sat in a hospital waiting room
waiting to be assessed
thinking maybe I was okay
and could go home again
and that he'd be there, arms outstretched,
gawking at my thong sticking out
above the low waistline of my blue
juicy couture pants and saying over and
over again, I've never seen a woman your
age dress like that
or look so fucking hot
all I've known is the corn
in August, rising fast, splitting hairs
it's nice to lie spread eagled
in between the rows
I can count the individual syllables
it's time to plant in June.
by Ruth Nolan
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