Mobile Wake by Lavonne Westbrooks

by Lavonne Westbrooks

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On the way to Horton
we laughed until we hurt
about the fart he lit
in the Falcon's back seat,
melted the red vinyl
and burned I forget whose eyebrows.
    Damn, that was a good car.
I folded my arms over my chest
remembering that mountain climb
in the Bronco, wearing no bra.
My breasts were so sore.
    Damn, that was a good weekend.
We all had Blue Ribbon
in his honor, used up
half a box of tissue.
Remembered how an explosion
perforated his ear
in a Cu Chi tunnel
and ever after his kids laughed
at the squeak he made
by pulling his lobe,
Carol Burnett style.
    Damn, he always had to be the funny one.
He came into this world naked
and he'd go out that way
he always said.

Early Saturday,
bare-breasted,
he faced his Peacemaker,
one bullet from an old Colt.
    God damn it.

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