The Arroyo, Sergio, and Me
We went in that arroyo just to cuss
down everything and everyone to mud
at least a hundred times and maybe worse
because we could, just that, because we could
and no one ever said a thing to us,
not even when we screamed for teacher blood
those summer afternoons of go to hell,
of maim and rape and Claudia and kill.
So boy! was that one heck of a you bet! place,
and what we found there, me and him, was swell,
the swellest, underneath that rotting brace
of railroad bridge: a rounded, solid, dull
and beautiful steel ball the Southern P.,
who'd blow their whistle if they saw you call,
had used for ballast maybe, or bombs--
what do caboose men do when they get bored?
We buried it, cause it was perfect; it
was all we talked about, till we forgot.
From Whispering to Fool the Wind (New York: Sheep
Meadow, 1982). Originally in The Little Magazine.