Did you bring your write-in journal,
Dad?
so you can write along the way?
Sorry, no, I say.
I startle myself by remembering
that I forgot.
You’ll find something to write on,
she says.
I say yes,
like the back of my hand,
enough to write
“Oh, look!”
And Chaz, from the front seat,
subdivides himself while driving
to joke and quip and tease:
“Oh look!
Nothing new!
How familiar!”
I know, I say, not aloud,
but then I saw
and noticed
poppies growing orange
in the cracks of bricks stacked
lined up slanting
to hold back the hill
because mud slides
and those highway people
know what they’re doing
and do it
and the poppies weren’t there
before last time going
so I know I’m being seasonal
and I always liked poppies
gold enough
like the state
to be the flower
and I see them everywhere
more and more
and I even have
a packet of their seeds
on my desk at home
waiting for me to decide


and there are the dark cows
spread along the hills
eating grass
no poppies there


stopping for gas
I get out the card again
everybody has something to give
even if just themselves
and that’s enough


I give up trying
to expect
change and same
are both sides
of equal

and the wind machines
I still like to call windmills
even if they only
grind the air
I like to see them moving
turning with the satisfaction
I feel myself
of doing something


I say I can see my future
reduced to a brain
wheeling around in a chair
and you say yes
I’ll take my Little Daddy Brain-in-a-Jar
down off the shelf
and say,
“How did you sleep?
Would you like brain bran
for breakfast?”
and I laugh happy
because you’re quicker
than I am
too good to run for office
and you reach your arm around
from the front seat
and pat my knee


I’m sad so often
when I see in passing
the American flag
plastered on a flat bed truck
parked by the highway
so passing people can notice
and almost hear your crying voice
which says
unknown to you
that you just don’t know
what that flag means


those parts of the freeway planted
by hedges that hide
what’s behind
remind me of
the L.A. Olympics
when they lined the streets
with temporary walls
so visitors
couldn’t see the city


You say
“they” did it.
Who are “they”?
I don’t know
grammar be damned
I just know
“they” isn’t me.


the fertile mind
planted like a crop
harvests what it can
take the harvest free
and grow your own


proud of myself
I think back
fifty years
when I was in the mix
publishing right and left
and now I find
still fresh


who could
or would
want anything more?
When you were here
My Darling
I could answer that question


mood swings
from high to low to high
I’m still learning
to stop it
where I want


horsies are beautiful
and black cows and sheep
eating grass
on the same hill


Look Dad,
the little mountain range.
I say yes and look
don’t see it
thought we’d already passed it
then I see it ahead
on the right
and beyond
Look, Dad, snow
on those other higher mountains
farther away
and I think yes
winter is ending
it’s early spring
but there’s still snow


and there’s a big something
almost finished
and the big sign almost ready
to tell us what it is


and then again
houses in isolation
desolation
I try not to look
I haven’t
hardened my heart


and those little mountains
they’re so cute
I could creep up on them
and wallow them like babies


who you talkin’ smack?!
I do I do!
It’s me me!
I mean I be I be!
I still don’t have it right.


and there
behind the wall
the top of a house
that looks really good
there are so many things
in this world
I’ll never see


melancholy
we planted melons
too late in the season
and they did turn out small
and pretty sad


there’s a little piece of ground
between the road and tracks
where something’s growing
should be food
the whole world’s hungry


and one after the other
Burger King
Taco Bell
McDonald’s
Popeyes
in a row
drive-by fast food
and Maverick
that’s new to me
maybe we should stop
and try
the slight variation


steam shovels lined up
and extended arm high branch pickers
waiting for someone
to rent them
on what appears to be
another planet


all the signs competing
Choose me! Pick me!
trying to elbow
each other aside
as we drive by
and pass them all


Lake Blvd.
It has its own street!
The importance of water.


and concrete mixers
turning by the side of the road ready
where do they go
at night?


burned dead trees
a congregation of ghosts


small streams down the hill
lined to catch the run-off
against erosion
how like life everything is
my life
everything


better slow down
there’s almost no space left
speed limit 70
and we’re pushing it
the remaining 46
that’s miles and time
I think we’ll make it


Mountain Gates
that’s what they call this place
the gate’s not always open


and here
the diminishing pen
has caught up
with the last space
I’ll turn my scratcher in
to buy a notebook
where I can write more
if there’s anything left
to say


silly stupid me!
of course there’s more
there’s always more
that’s why
I’m still alive


saw a flag on the back of a truck
expecting the prevailing winds
to wave it


bird in the sky
looks like the same bird
we saw before
must fly pretty fast
to get ahead of us


and the Sacramento River
and more birds


and a big slanted wall of dirt
right next to growing grass
as if someone
with a very big razor
shaved the hill


I don’t mind
that I’ve seen it before
or that
I’ll see it again
I know enough about life
to know how it goes


they’re so good to me
not to push me out to pasture
where they know
I couldn’t survive
on my own


they know I get emotional
mushy
and spoon myself down
like pablum
sometimes bland bitter
or sweet
I prefer
sweet


“Never could understand why…”
I say, “I hear you,”
but I know
you’re talking about
something else


and the steam shovel
in the bottom of the pit
it created for itself
looks like
it can’t get out


houses scattered
here and there
deserve
more
neighborhood


and there’s a fancy house
in the middle of a field
farmhouse why so fancy
there’s nobody around
to impress


a row of houses
tract
fifty feet away from the road
a wall
and dirt and grass and water
like a moat


and fields
a dying town
houses people hanging on
until the ground wears out
and ghosts rush in


the radio comes on
as we pass over a canal
is there a connection?


some kind of indeterminate
factory plant structure
for making or processing
something
looks too much like bombs


paper
two sheets
both sides
folded
almost enough
for more than
halfway


shoulda rephrased that
my ear doesn’t always work
equally well


Smile, Dad.
I’m not very good at it.
You took the picture anyway.


My God!
Is that what I look like?
Even when I was younger
and better looking
I didn’t need
to look.


And Lake Shasta
Look at that color!
Deep rich blue
now one of my favorite lakes
someday
I’ll go down closer
to touch the water


Look at all the snow, Dad!
Yes, everywhere you look
just not near enough yet
to chill the air
but we’re getting closer



The sign
“Farmers Feed America”
I wish they didn’t
have to say


Rest Stop
glad it’s open
this time
don’t need it now
and maybe next time
we come by
it won’t be there


Now Leasing!
Of course.
Always.
Because people wouldn’t buy.
Building houses
then trying
to get people
to live there
urban planning ambivalence
and too many people


Big Truck
this time
with a brand name
and almost immediated
because the slow lane
another smaller truck
another brand name


Truck says
Boomerang
I’ll be back


there’s that isolated house again
a truck nearby this time
I resist the impulse
to drive over
off the road
knock on the door
and thank them
for being alive


each time I take this trip
and write about it
I see my frame of mind
reveals the mood I’m in


but that can change
and sometimes I can control it
I’m basically a cheerful guy
happy wanna go lucky
and virtuoso at suppressing
all that other stuff


and there’s a little freight train
looks parked along the track
looks not moving maybe waiting
and now I see the engine
so it’s moving after all


and I see the transportation past
reminding me of what’s almost still here


changed drivers at Black Bear Restaurant
I wondered if I’d ever tasted bear.
It’s greasy, Dad.
I thought
Maybe they could render it.
If they can render unto Caesar
they could render bear.


Rolling Hills Clinic.
Is even the ground sick?


There’s Mount Lassen, Dad,
big cinder cone, snow on top.
It’s California’s fault
there are so many
volcanic heaps
looking like dessert
vanilla ice cream piled up
I’m hungry again


a biggie bird
flapping hard
in the air
to stay above the ground
Like me
I say
always everything
like me


Mount Lassen on the right
Mount Shasta further ahead
but here the ground is flat
sign says
Recreation Unlimited
but the ocean’s
too far away
how spoiled I was
growing up further south
everything in reach


Lots of water
in the canals, Dad
Good to see