moving day

Lena, across the street
on her porch step clutching
her robe closed against the afternoon sun,
ashtrays neat with
stacked half-smoked Kents.
In her bedroom
a real live slot machine
would spray nickles but you never won.
Lena’s buoyancy declined
absent my mom floating
her tab
at the China Inn

To Kim I pretend not to wave
who couldn't give a shit
who spit and kissed and
let me ride her dirt bike exactly once

(hey fat-ass. go help your mother pack.
Name’s not fat-ass, Booby.)

Nu-Dad Bobby black & white,
western arrow piping.
Bobby black mustache,
ring finger missing,
like Aunt Belinda and
her little 280 z,
burnt orange dot fading
in the pale horizon.
Bobby blackish blue bird breast oil chest hair
showed teeth on stage
with Marty Robbins
out in the west Texas town of El Paso,
where we never saw Belinda again.