Kool-Aid Goodbye by David Spicer

No Trespassing. All violators will
be shot on sight: the sign at the trailer
park entrance demanded traffic
end here–smog arrived on this Texas
horizon. That morning, no promenade
of perfumed tennis players, no Japanese
gymnasts, no fiesta for footballers.
Only a gazebo I had built the previous
week, my debt paid to Rancho, car
salesman owner of the empty park.
As I escaped over the barbed wire,
mud dropped from my boots.
In the distance, I watched Rancho
on the porch of his shed sipping
an olived lime drink. The trailers
nothing but shacks, ditches everywhere,
no streetlamps. Snakes and eels
on the slimy ground. In the safe zone
now, I saw Rancho, crown of thorns
on his bloody head, shrug his skinny
shoulders and yell, You sell-out, Brody!
Swallow the Kool-Aid Goodbye, and meet
us at our cathedral in the sky, you small,
traitorous lizard liver, you scuttling crab!

david-spicer-2
David Spicer has had poems in The American Poetry Review, Ploughshares, Gargoyle, Mad Swirl, Reed Magazine, Slim Volume, The New Verse News, The Laughing Dog, Chiron Review, Easy Street, Bad Acid Laboratories, Inc., Dead Snakes, among others, and in the anthologies Silent Voices: Recent American Poems on Nature (Ally Press, 1978), Perfect in Their Art: Poems on Boxing From Homer to Ali (Southern Illinois University Press, 2003), and A Galaxy of Starfish: An Anthology of Modern Surrealism (Salo Press, 2016). He has been nominated for a Best of the Net twice and a Pushcart, and is the author of one full-length collection of poems, Everybody Has a Story (St. Luke’s Press, 1987), and four chapbooks. He is also the former editor of Raccoon, Outlaw, and Ion Books. He lives in Memphis, Tennessee.
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