For Art Coelho
Mentor, friend
The title, his words
You taught me how
to poke it, stoke it
pour whiskey on it
keep it roaring hot.
It ain’t pretty, slick,
or academic; it learns
lessons from crickets,
coyotes howling
by bedrolls, hoboes,
coal trains in the night.
Pork and beans
around a ring
sticks ticking
hissing bark
nails shooting
popping hot blue
stories after dark.
A good student,
I will never let
the wild eyed girl
burn out.
I won’t let the bastards
take the flame, I won’t
let them piss it down
to embers.
Pistols in my lines,
thunder in my stomach,
thick brown gravy
on an old tin plate.
Sparks flying
from my lips,
I tip my hat
to the master,
pass the flask
to the next
one in line.
We’ll go down
flinging fire
through the grate.
Rusty Truck 