September 2004 / Volume Five / Issue Four
C. Allen Rearick
Does Anyone Know What Time  M*A*S*H  is On

Sometimes
wed even drive down
west boulevard in
richs blue delta 88

needle blanketing
30 60 90 100 mph
our winter pond eyes
and chug-a-lug hydrocodone grins
challenging every stop sign
and be-all end-all
traffic light in
view

we both agreed
wed never outdo
the summer
of 2001

far-gone drives
cross nameless lawns
side-shoulder trips on
sardine highways

and we figured
any skimble-skamble
half-assed parody
there of
would result in
certain death
for either one
of us

we still drive through
undying fame
every once in awhile

digesting ingredients
of the past
but now its in
the comfort
of my well-timed

basement.