from The Talent Poems

RP Thomas photo


A Talent Day

As Big Mike turned an Allen wrench, he smelled
the stench of something rotting in the trunk
of a gray Olds towed in the day before,
while Rolo rolled 'round under the good old
bus.  Over at Tex’s Tavern, the wag Ted
said, “Lizzie, I’ll have another.”  Lizzie
shook her head, sending Ted into the men’s
room to piss and rethink his strategy.
In Noble Coffee, Carl Hicks was laying
it on thick, explaining the various
uses of metaphor in the Good Book.
Harry Reems frowned and shot Hicks a grim look.
Tired, Tex was upstairs in his office where
he now lived, writing three songs he deemed fair.


Thief

Every small town has a football star—
Talent is no different in that regard—
a kid who shines under the lights
on Friday nights, thrilling the home town
crowd of moms and dads who yield to this
sacred rite of passage, when 200 yards
rushing ensures the rightful purpose
of their lives—and the dad may drink or
be an insurance man, and the mom may
have a secret plan to escape the deadening
sameness of everything, having once
dreamed of something more.  Boomer’s
mother hadn’t a clue that her son was sporting
failure in school—that his head was filled with
schemes to steal things that weren’t his.
Thus one night after the big game, when Big
Mike and Rolo were away at Lizzie DeLay’s,
Boomer and his friend Ben Browner stole
into the junkyard after midnight, found the
mechanic’s stash and a few of his  meager
treasures, and trashed the bus in their anger.


TS