Frank towed my Cadillac back
after all these years
after he’d wrecked it, smashed
all the windows in giant,
jagged comic book cuts -
POW!
Still that ridiculous butter yellow
(not a normal color for a man’s car,
which twice it had been).

Mind you, this was only a dream,
but it could have happened
what with Frank wandering around
town with an arsenal but no Zyprexa,
the armed mayor
of Under-the-Bridge-Town smack
at the intersection of red-light
hand & green man walking;
known to his claque there
& the occasional cop, opaque
to everyone else:
his shrink, defense attorney,
first, second & fourth wife
(Ruth),
the Department of Health
& Human Services.
Me.

He was the grackle you turn from
in the parking lot, the one
picking through a Fritos bag
tossed out the window of a pick-up
the one chowing down
on what, when you’re starved,
passes for food.