Last Call (11 page)

I'm so burnt they had to put me in the back

and I'm laying in this feller's lap

who put out the fire in my clothes

we pull out of there driving like hell

was chasing us to get to town

and by then the fire was so hot

it burnt up the whole goddam rig

there wasn't nothing left and I

seen it bend over just like it was plastic

I wanted to pass out so bad I couldn't stand it

I didn't I just laid there and felt it all

and saw it all

so's we're racing the devil to town

as fast as we can go and we pass this law

he turns on his red light and chases us

till he gets close enough to see and then

he pulls ahead and leads us through town

about ninety miles a hour to the hospital

where he jumps out and runs over and opens

the door and he just puked like hell

three up front was arredy dead two of them

stuck together they's burnt so bad

the crewboss's hand was off

he didn't have no face left

how he drove God knows I don't

there was only one othern still alive and

he died that night so then they come

to get us out of the back and they started to lift

me out I said Get him first he saved my life

the man says it's too late he's done dead

I was laying in his lap

onliest two that made it was me and the crewboss

he was in the hospital for ninety six days

and I was in for a hundred and four

a week and a day more

I remember cause he come to see me

when they let him out

he was burnt so bad I couldn't tell

who he was till he said something

he ast if I's okay and I said Yas

we just looked at each other for a minute

then he walked off

I said Be seeing you, he just waved

three days later he drove his car

into a bridge and killed hisself

they buried him exactly one week after

they let him out and then let me out

the next day after his funeral was over

I don't have no bad scars left that show

my legs is burnt good

I still feel it I get cold

have to wear them long underwears

all year long on my legs

my hands is so thin they bleed easy

skin's about as thick as a cigarette paper

but I'm lucky I guess

all the rest is dead cept me

I went back to work for the oil

the next day because I didn't have nothing

else to do and they put me on chain

wrapping pipes, that's when I done it

I hadn't been working a hour

when this feller on the other side

thew his chain and I felt it hurt

so's I finished and took off my glove

the finger stayed in

I said You sonofabitch you done cut my finger off

I don't think he heard he didn't say nothing

well I had it I went to the man

and said That's it pay me off

oh he tried to get me to stay on

but I lost the taste

didn't care no more

it was after that I went down South

for the lectric company

got my stomach cut out and

then I come here to die

it was a pretty place, I didn't have nothing better

ever day LaVerne'd pack me a lunch

I'd draw her a map of where

I'd be if I didn't make it home

I was weak and couldn't hardly stand

so I'd drive up to the caprock edge

where I'd take off my clothes

let the sun shine on me

my muscles wouldn't heal up

on my stomach where I'd been burned

just ugly skin there you could see through

I only weight ninety six pounds

I'd lay on a quilt and look back at the valley

and just wait to be dead and have it done

you know by god I guess I'd still

be laying up there waiting

except after a while LaVerne she went

and bought these two hogs for me

she knew I'd like that

I got to coming down early to feed them

when I was up there

I'd get to thinking about the market

making money

I got so cited I come down one day early

went to looking for a boar

to get a herd started

the next day I forgot to go up and die

then pretty soon I about quit

thinking about it altogether

it just don't take much to keep

some people going

that gets us about to here

which is nearly last call

before heading home

time for one last beer

they say God takes special care

of children and idiots

I guess he's been watching out

for me and you two

by god I'll always remember them times

they was good times for the most

but I do hope to Christ

they don't never ever come back

The two saddest words in the English language.

—from a conversation with Bill Kloefkorn

1

Tonight

moonglow

from within

softly

like a candled egg

and softly

stars diminish

until incandescence washes

the dark sky

until midnight's

lightslick

its ebb and flow

liquid

the candent universe

rolls

softly

2

Midnight

remonstrance:

there are those

I wish honestly

only to remember

being gone

and only memory

and

there are those

I wish to never remember

desiring

only their presence

lasting as long

as my life

until forever

as

I cannot imagine

living in a world

containing

only their memory

3

And you my friend

whom the gods call

into that other alone

wherever you wake

be it desert or forest

mountain or seaside

find tinder

dry moss and kindling

flint

strike a small fire which

being eternity

will flicker beyond forever

sing

your bright poem

fork your lightning dance

I will find you

sooner than later wherever

you wait in the darkness

We will sing together

delirious and off key

We will tell great lies

to shame the heavens

We will cook with wine

I promise you this

What do you honestly think

about that pile of stacked up junk?

I honestly think

it's probley one of the most beautiful things

I ever saw in my goddam life

Are you shitting me?

I shit you not

While there are dozens of allusions and references in this book to scriptural and classical authors, as well as known and recognizable writers from the middle ages through the twentieth century, certain contemporary writers are quoted and should be acknowledged.

In “The Committee to Review and Revise the Board of Education Mission Statement,” the italics are from T. S. Eliot. In “Lost in Translation,” the marvelous Mr. Nims is John Frederick Nims. In “From the Pickup Cab,” the hero is Robert Creeley. In “Idyll,” the prophet is Phillip Larkin. As far as I know and to the best of my knowledge, Jack Shit was an invention of either William Kloefkorn or my Uncle Odell Latham, who I have wanted to acknowledge as a major influence in my life for almost seventy years and am delighted to use this opportunity to fulfill that goal, even though I am sure beyond any shadow of a doubt that these words never crossed his lips.

In the poem, “The Monument to the South Plains,” the images of farm implements and machinery used in the sculpture's construction are taken from poems by William Kloefkorn and by the author of this book.

The author wishes to thank the editors of the following presses and journals where the poems in this book originally appeared:

Bosque:
“The Traildust Gospel”

Clover, a Literary Rag,
Volume 3, Summer 2012: “At the Sign of the Flying Red Horse”

Clover, a Literary Rag,
Volume 4, Winter 2012: “Monroe”

Clover, a Literary Rag,
Volume 4, Summer, 2013: “Substitute Teacher”

Cutthroat:
“San Antonio Incident,” “Eloise Ann”

Paddlefish 2012,
Number 6: “The Monument to the South Plains Series”

Paddlefish 2013
, Number 7: “Driving Solo,” “What They Say,” “From the Pickup Cab”

“Higher Authority,” “Lost in Translation,” “Jacks,” and “The closing Sequence: Idyll, Oil Well Fire and Last Call” originally appeared in
Narrative Magazine
.

An earlier version of “E. U. Washburn's Story: Uncle Abe” appeared in
Covenants
(with William Kloefkorn), Spoon river Poetry Press.

An earlier version of “Pain” appeared in
Day's Work
, Copper Canyon Press.

An earlier version of “The Oil Well Fire” was a part of the long-poem
Driving and Drinking
, Copper Canyon Press.

For patient, thoughtful, wonderful bordering on the magnificent readings, suggestions, encouragement, and critical reactions to this manuscript that went light years above and beyond the call of duty or friendship, copious thanks to Eleanor Wilner, a goddess incarnate; my great friends Michael Donovan and Rob Van Wagoner, who I claim as hermanos; Jon and JoDee, who have grown to be both kith and kin; the Boulder, Utah wild bunch, who tolerated my insistence on their being my first audience to hear these poems for four years; and especially Rita Jean, who stayed with me all the way both in the caressing and goading modes on this one.

D
avid Lee was raised in West Texas, a background he has never completely escaped, despite his varied experiences as a seminary student, a boxer and semi-pro baseball player (the only white player to ever play for the Negro League Post Texas Blue Stars) known for his knuckleball, a hog farmer, and a decorated Army veteran. Along the way he earned a Ph.D., taught at various universities, and recently retired as the Chairman of the Department of Language and Literature at Southern Utah University.

Lee was named Utah's first Poet Laureate in 1997, and has received both the Mountains & Plains Booksellers Award in Poetry and the Western States Book Award in Poetry. Lee received the Utah Governor's Award for lifetime achievement in the arts and was listed among Utah's top twelve writers of all time by the Utah Endowment for the Humanities. He is the author of twenty books of poetry. In 2004,
So Quietly the Earth
was selected for the New York Public Library's annual “Books to Remember” list. His latest, a joint collection with the late poet William Kloefkorn, is
Moments of Delicate Balance
(Wings Press, 2011).

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