When The Water Pump Goes

When the water pump goes, the timing belt will not be far behind…

trip on this a minute

a mind full of torturous worry pushes in through the door
sitting in the Denny's on the 5 near Coalinga
across the interstate from Harris Ranch
searching all the mindful possibilities of this fragile balance

rocking too far into the painful tone of failures past
not wanted by the law, employed, on the verge of

gaining housing and repaying debts so as to

hopefully, finally stand upright again to maybe join

the race of humans busy in the eternal dust clouds

of industrious survival far up ahead

they left us behind long ago
the obstacles seem so insignificant to them

as if they brush away vulnerable moments like this

the way a wild bison tail will scatter

so many flies in its constant undulation

even though many flies circle back

to bite the bison anyway

and that is what it feels like right now

as if one more fly bite would send the whole life and legend

to hell in a torrent of manure and flies

and the desolation of Stienbeck as the chilling wind

covers the last traces of existence on a cold and lonely

San Joaquin Sunday night of fear set in motion

as time drips by like the corn syrup on flaccid

grand slam pancakes and piss weakened coffee

that all pours away while the mind sets itself into shock

so far away from faith that even hope is two rest stops gone

heading north in the heart but waiting in the moment

to get in touch with what is left behind

before you think this is the moment prayers may have been made for

only prayers have already been said and maybe the sound of the voice

saying them has finally fell past redemption as all it would take

would be one more fly bite or broken part or bill amounting to

a lifetime of work against the fear that it will never be enough

to counter the great darkness forming always against us

on the fading border of the distant horizon