The following is based on a true story:

In 1969, the bridge hadn’t been built yet

Poor Araceli, mother of five

By the time they pulled the third child out of the river

She had collapsed,

Clutching at her chest

Clawing at the skirts

Betrayal of a sinking truck, a selfish impatient man, and a husband

Poor Araceli, mother of five and three dead bodies

Back then, it was only a trail down the mountains from El Salvador down to Tequila

Only burros and donkeys and horses alike—maybe a truck sometimes

Three hours wayside

Husband hitched a ride, told his wife and children get inside

Piled into the cab next to the smoking driver

When they called in divers, we smelled it first

The smell of rot

Of the third son, so young

Ay, the six month old, the one she had last summer, widow next door whispers

As they dragged his bloated body through the street

It was only a raft in 1969

Poor Araceli gone to church

Whole town’s come to pray

A thousand hail marys

We will pray until we are sick

We will pray until those poor children are in heaven

One person goes first—ninety nothing prayers—the next starts to lead

Lord bless these poor babies

All we had was prayers to give

Baptized in the rivers of Amatitán

Raft unbalanced as it tips over the side

Sending the family of seven wayside still inside

When they announced it on the radio that the divers found the third child

And Araceli looked at her two young children left in guilt

And stood quiet as they told her, we found his head stuck in the back window of the

This is punishment for surviving

This is the punishment for living

Lightning’s struck twice and god’s abandoned poor Araceli

Come town crier,

She’s a victim of a man’s hurried desire

To get across a river

Whose bridge had been embezzled and immolated seven times over before it was born

Bribe the priest

To bless the funeral and bury an unbaptized baby

Husband sits so perfectly, so angry as they lower them in their final restings

Poor Araceli,

Sits vacant-eyed

Husband can no longer speak to her

Mother in-law combs her hair, ushers her here and there

I’m afraid there’s just nothing that can be done here

Mother of mothers could not save her

We buried her about a year after.

Litany II

In 1969,

The truck driver fled

Scared of being strung up for his ways

Returns

After the family is long gone

They are all publicized relics now

Twists his foot inside the widow’s door

My love, mi amor

Fucks her while guilt or maybe narcissism or maybe the fact they should've gone one by one—family first, then the truck, then continue on—eats him from the inside

Smoking rolled cigarettes and drinking a fifth

He's got a scar on his lip

From the last man's wife

Son plays soccer outside

So childish and so immersed in violence

Teenage boys getting drunk under orange trees and fighting and crying like lost babies

They have all seen men die before the age of eighteen

It’s depressing, really

Sitting in a sleazy bar,

Drunken, bragging about all the girls he’s done before

Son sits with his friends

Listening to his unrepentance

Oh look, here comes the widow’s name

Out of his mouth

I wonder what the son will do now

Get my mother’s name out,

Laughter

Carries on talking about the boy’s mother in this manner—

Storms out

He’s hotblooded and he’s got the anger and the firepower to prove it

Cantinas carry a collection of bullet holes around these parts

Today, there’s another one

Marking the spot in the bar

Where a son shot the truck driver

We ducked beneath tables and watched him bleed.

Ojo por ojo.

Diente por diente.

Dead daddy’s pistol served its purpose

And so the son flees

And the world continues on, furious and bloody

Families fractured, saints delivered, guilty guns and well-loved widows

Mother of mothers, come save them

Pray over each of their caskets

May they each find their way to damnation

May they each find their way to salvation

Mother Mary, if we are born to die,

please let it be nice

In the early 2000s, the Puente de Amatitán-El Salvador was finally built.

Today there is a dam. Today there is a road. Today there is a bridge.

This does nothing for them.

If all you meet are assholes, maybe you're an asshole.

Some things you only need to hear once and they will stick in your brain.

Write about someone unbearable, they prompt me.

Well, to myself I say this:

Why couldn't you save your marriage?

Why couldn't you control your temper?

Why were you not satisfied with your life after the military?

Why can't you just feel happiness like anyone else?

This man is a jerk, and most times I hate him, though the reason remains mostly undiscovered.

Perhaps he will become my catalyst to do better. Time will whisper the answer to me in the wind.

It is the only sound I hear now that my loved ones have dispersed away from me and only an empty house remains.

Maybe I will write about it, instead of picking up my gun and killing him.

I read in the New York Times recently

that pedophiles in Louisiana

can now be ordered to undergo

surgical castration

and not merely

a chemical alteration

making that the only

happy piece of news

out of that publication in ages

especially from that state

where abortion is "mostly illegal"

but even in California

nothing that radical has happened

regarding pedophiles

at least Louisiana

can recognize this evil

and move in the right direction

even amongst this country's

current political turmoil

She gives me that look

You know the one?

Like I'm worth nothing

Like I'm too ugly and pathetic

And she's annoyed she's had to notice me

That even with my ribs sticking out

I'm grossly overweight

My hair's too frizzy

For her ever critical eye

My nose too pointy

My eyes too small

My lids too creased

My lips too thin

The hair above my lips

Too disgusting for words

I shrink beneath her withering gaze

But that just brings her notice

To my slouching shoulders

I can't even stand up straight!

She sneers at my rounded belly

At the dimples on my thighs

'Til I want to die of shame

Whispering cruel nothings

In my too-large ear

The running commentary persists

Until finally, crushed, I turn away

Wrap my towel around me

And leave the woman in the mirror

To go about my day

Collecting my shreds of dignity

Around me like a cloak

- Until tomorrow

I remember her pretty perky asshole

tight pink with stray hairs protruding

it was the one body part off limits to me

one I thought of that taut tense unyielding

squeeze compact compressed stretched wide

her asshole and her undivided attention

warmth tenderness intimacy attachment

all denied while the rest of her dripping

wants needs demands obligations open

for prodding probing deep hard always

she was an asshole with an asshole I craved

yearned for massaged inserting a single digit

once forbidden jerked away for being a jerk

not playing by her subservient asshole rules

I less for having crossed into the forbidden

she hurt me back as assholes do

plunging her digits into my chest

yanking out my heart and wringing

it dry hard dead unable to ever pump

vital fluids to my hungry starving depths

I did my monthly tarot pull last week. In preparation for the new month, I thought about Junes of past, present, and future. I thought about my brothers birthday. I thought about the thick southern air. Illinois corn fields, state fairs. Work. Applications. School. Adulthood. Precipice.

I thought about a red flag as blatant as a soiled tourniquet. Crimson. Glaring. And after that summer, I have a strict list of things I will not put up with, of bullshit not to be tolerated. (I'll smoke my trees raw and not take them in gummy form. I will not bake for any new partners until month three.) My unconditional kindness is my Achilles heel, and bitch you are the arrow. (I will never date anyone with unresolved mommy issues. Matter fact, bring your therapist to the door with you or you will not be permitted enterance) And how I allowed a self serving, privlaged white girl to shoot me, I will never know. (Anyone who specifies that they have commitment issues is not for you... I feel like that should have been obvious from the start) Bella, you taught me so much, and for that I should thank you. Valuable life lessons like,

Truth without kindness is cruelty.

And how to spot a person who is good for real.

And

You can drag my name through the mud all you want, that new girl is not going to see you any different. I hope you're better to her than you were to me, she's pretty.

(There's a clear line between light gossip and "Wow lil mama, do you ever mind your business." Trust yourself enough to know where it is)

And lastly

The thing about good people

People who are REALLY good

People

They don't switch up. Even through all that you've done, I am still kind. I still love. I still pull my tarot every month. I still pray for my friends, for my mother, for my soul. Sometimes even you.

So talk your shit girl, you deserve it.

Just don't let it hit the fan.

“He is just lazy”

Or maybe it’s clinical depression you fuckwit.

”She just nuts, hyperactive and irresponsible for weeks then lazy and irresponsible for weeks. She doesn’t care”

For fucks sake! She has bi polar you fuckwit.

”He‘s so weird, he’s always darting his gaze around and mumbling to himself, it’s creepy”

Umm No, not weird, just symptoms of psychosis, you fuckwit!

”He is so self centred and cold, always interrupting me and changing the subject to something he wants to talk about. He doesn't even hug me or hold my hand”

Yep, maybe get him tested for autism, you fuckwit.

“theyre not sick, they don’t need help”

Shes never understood mental health, won’t listen to anyone who tries to explain it , and then has the fucking nerve to tell them they’re not unwell and not need support.

shes a fuckwit

It can be difficult these days to try to treat everyone, as much as possible, with empathy. To try to see the small, dim spark of goodness in people. But sometimes, they make it too easy to let go of your carefully cultured restraint. And yet, I still refrain from direct personal insultation. Rather, I tend to simply point out the truth, which people absolutely loathe. I have learned that you don't, in fact, have to be mean and childish to insult someone, you just have to give them a mirror. It's surprising just how similar to Dorian Gray so many people are. And they know they are. And they hate themselves, deeply, because of it.

I encountered one such woman recently. She was taking great pride in the fact that she had not "let herself go" after having only two kids and that other women who did were, in fact, "lazy." She was the pinnacle of womanly achievement, and all others should strive to be as good of a mother and wife as she. I praised her for being the ideal specimen of womanhood. Surprisingly, she accused me of being rather snarky. I simply pointed out to her that she, herself, had sung her own praises and I was merely congratulating her on such a wonderful accomplishment. Again, she was unhappy with my response and subsequently deleted her comment on the popular platform, much to my dismay.

May we all remember that seeking validation online is an empty act and humility should be a more prominent practice.

Sitting around bitching by the coffee pot I should have pissed in. Yelling about nothing while he's built like Thanksgiving stuffing. Probably gets no loving with his belly and chin so repulsing. A disgusting blob eating his bag of Dorito chips and having a cow. Talks down on others when they turn their back. He's so damn loud in the morning I think he's smoking crack. If he's not gimping around he's pimping Trump to you. Funny thing is Trump wouldn't want anything to do with him or his shitty attitude. He's lucky I'm a nice guy and don't demand some gratitude.

The Worst

I used to work for a restaurant some years back. Started out as a server, elevated to manager, and then promoted to general manager. The hours were long, but I felt that my loyalty and dedication had paid off, and I was secure with the company. There had been 19 manager turnovers in five years, which should have been a warning for whomever wanted to go grasping for the big prize.

The fateful day I was going to go to Kaiser with my wife after work to verify that indeed she was pregnant. During that shift, the restaurant owner came in, took me to the office and told me flat out they were letting me go. Not because I had done anything wrong , they were just “moving in another direction.” I felt all of my internal organs drop. This was a total blindside and I wasn’t even allowed to say goodbye to my staff with whom I had grown close. Mid shift, I merely disappeared out the back door, never knowing what their reaction was. Needless to say, it was an awkward doctor’s visit and what should’ve been a day of joy was turned into a day of uncertainty and pain. I will never forgive Michael Sternberg for that. To pour salt in the wound, I found out later five minutes after I left a manager from a different restaurant was moved into my position. Why? Because they didn’t have to pay him as much as they paid me. I discovered they were basically going to use the money of my salary to do renovations on another restaurant, a restaurant I am proud to say failed, seven months after opening. The reviews were brutal, people openly mocked the cheap stickers on the awning, covering up Harry’s Tap Room and saying Market Tavern, and I openly celebrated its closing. In this spirit, I wrote a song which I’ve not recorded yet. So try to imagine a scathing bluegrass ditty with maybe a Latin flare bridge for the following lyrics:

Fuck you, Michael Sternberg

Go and eat a burnt turd

Your name is like a dirt word in my ear

Hope you get punched in the solar plexus

Someone keys your Lexus

And your wife just leaves you sexless for a year

One thing you have mastered

Is being a cheap bastard

You replastered the awnings without care

You thought you were so clever

But your Market Tavern endeavor

Failed so hard it was like it was never even there

I’m going to force feed you some lukewarm afterbirth

For never paying your chefs what they’re worth

And all the managers you treated like gnats

Have all been issued fresh new baseball bats

We’re all taking bets as to what

Will be the first thing tumbling out of your gut

We’re so happy we got a….

Human piñata…..

Fuck you Michael Sternberg in the butt