Two Poems by Sissy Buckles


I first met Mike Hodges,
surfer extraordinaire,
when I moved from downtown to Mission Beach,
lucky enough to score a cheap cottage right on the bay
had the hots for his bod from the start,
we were young, who wouldn’t?
Perpetually tan and broad-shouldered
always barefoot even in winter
predictably called his dog Shaka
his dad Ralphie was a Little Rascal
from the old Hollywood movies
made enough money to buy a couple million dollar
beach front homes so Mike never had to work,
surfing was his job,
and fucking around customizing wild bikes,
had a silky-curled son one year named Blue
with lovechick Cali girl,
dabbled in meth from time to time turned annoying
so we didn’t want to see him anymore
almost burned down his own house once
left a candle in the attic like a dumbshit,
but he was always cool
when he sold little bags of mexi schwag.
I wasn’t surprised to learn he’d died
drunk crashing his cougar girlfriend’s Mercedes
coming home late at night from partying
and I still expect to see his handsome brown face,
whizzing by me with a nimbus of gold hair
barefoot on his skateboard down the sunset boardwalk
Shaka intent, keeping up behind


Dishing the dirt

I know some folks were wondering
if I really did talk to God.
Truthfully the answer is yes.
In fact all the time,
strange as that may sound
and I’m not ashamed to say.
He talked to me first.
I mean like He wasn’t
even on my mind
you know I was thinking
of riding my bike down the
boardwalk at the beach
buying some avocados and papaya
at Sprout’s Farmers Market for lunch
and maybe meeting the girls later
for pool playing and beer down the street
on Broadway with the rest of the
assholes at Dirk’s Horseshoe Lounge.
But if you could spare
one little unused moment
in your day to try to think
outside of the box here
suspend your disbelief,
and okay let’s do call it an
Apostolic type experience
umm and in perhaps really
just a literal manner,
“see me feel me touch me”
so to speak,
I can dig The Who
once in a while,
and what the hell
if you can’t even reach down
into your pocket and hand
a fiver to a downandout grimy guy
in a suit and tie sitting on an
overturned bucket with a sign
saying he lost his job,
I don’t care how many
fucking believers follow you
on Facebook your art
is irrelevant to me.
I think these miracles happen daily,
I really do
and a Carmelite nun
I happened to meet
in a completely random manner
prayed hard for me
and gave me a lit rainbow candle
as a last present the year
before she died unflinchingly
of melanoma cancer,
could you call that luck,
who knows? Somebody
leaned down and I felt
his hot breath reeking of
fish, honey, blood and yeast
whisper earnestly into my ear
“Remember Me”
that was enough and so
now what, I’m going to
just ignore Him?



2 Responses to “Two Poems by Sissy Buckles”

  1. priscampbell Says:

    Love both of these!

  2. I love these! Your writing soars to my soul…

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