(5.1) FRANK'S ENCHANTED WORLD VAUDEVILLE (starring Frank)

ST. IGNATZ OF THE RATS

For Michael Moore of those misty-Sixty army days who told me how St. Ignatz saved the NYC sewer rats from the alligators,

for Al Houseworth who showed me the storm drains of Santa Fe, and for Julie Joyce who accompanied me on a mission that started in the storm drain and ended in the Cementerio de los Niños.

(not Santa Fe)

ST IGNATZ OF THE RATS

Twenty-first century wild-ness

doubles & triples back upon itself.

Thickets and brambles

like concertina wire

looped & looped again.

Cedar Sentinels

limbs and branches

all a-tangle

stop the penetration - at least for now.

Barred from nature

Frank takes to the city

takes to the solitude of storm drains.

Down a culvert

into the maw

Darkness and damp

Palpable

Suffocating

Frank can't see his hands

Converse high-tops soaked

Pant-legs wet & clinging.

Now's the time

for that Dollar-Store pen-light

to pen-through

the damp and chatter

to reveal -

Rats

straight out of Hamlin

a dozen-abreast

dropping scat

like an asphalt re-pave

     rats

stretching further than Frank's weak beam

lets him see

snarled & squirming

up each other's butts

over each other's backs

mindlessly jockeying

     for position

Mumbai traffic jam

rats.

Frank kicks a dropout

that's stopped to feed

skirts a dirty-dozen fucking like Saturday night in rat-town.

It's always Saturday night in rat-town.

Just above

nestled in a nook

Mother Raven

taking a break

from the turning world

looks on with seen-it-all eyes

and a seen-it-all attitude.

Though they frequent

the same establishments

Ma Raven hates rats

  for their secretive ways.

Procession slows

fans out

flanks a scene

illuminated from a street-lit

storm grate.

Frank kills his pen-light

holds his breath

exhales real slow

   jaw-dropping.

Looks like

Saturday night

in rat-town

has turned into

Solemn High

      Sunday

    in Rat-Rome.

Sewer rat

Wharf rat

Ground rat

Tree rat

Field rat

Water rat

acolytes

up on their hind legs

Cassocks

rag and tatterered

black and stained

scarlet skull caps

puffing ce-gars and cigarettes

blowing smoke around over up to

There-He-Sits

on a white-metal lawn chair rocker

up on cinder blocks

SAINT IGNATZ

HIMSELF

naked

fat and pasty pale

rat-faced

Saint Ignatz

smile beaming

incisors clicking

so much joy in rat-town

Alleluia…Alleluia

blue smoke swirls

rising

up into light

furry chatter

loud louder

Frank

doubles over

gasping

dry-heaves

diverts attention

and

Ignatz

      Patron Saint of Rats

pins his pink eyes on Frankie

stands on ancient legs

and points

his pale and palsied

index finger…

To be Continued

The Wonderful World of Storm Drains

(and with apologies to George Herriman, and Ignatz Mouse)

(4) FRANK'S ENCHANTED WORLD VAUDEVILLE (starring Frank)

BACK & FORTH AND…

Frank spent a big chunk of time
hitch-hiking back and forth across America

Back & forth and
Back & forth and
Back & forth.

One day
hitching through Colorado
Frank caught a ride
with America himself

America
be-frocked
     in the red-white-and-blue
crossing country
in a rag-top black Cadillac
with his road buddies
Custer & Crook
heading for heroin-heaven
Bakersfield, California.

Mexican-Brown
they called it,
rhapsody and reverie
all in one.

Somewhere near Creede
America asked Frank to drive
so they could fix up
in their big back seat.

Frank
having neither license
nor clue
but being Frank
took the wheel
and lead-footing way over the speed limit
drove straight off the Continental Divide
into the galactic dome.

Those poor
  fucked-up
     junkies

one with a needle in his arm
one with a rubber hose in his teeth
and one with his finger tips on fire

got bucked
up and out
far beyond the Caddie's arc
to re-enter Earth's atmosphere

as three comets

thinking it was the trip of their lives

and it was.

Frank
white-knuckling
the steering wheel
and shouting to Gawd-Almighty

tumbled
down
down
    and
    down

dumping that car
in the flood swollen
Rio Grande
and slick as a panting Labrador
scrambled up to the highway
to catch a lift
with an 18-wheeler
heading for the Great Salt Lake.

When Frank told the trucker
about America & Company

(just to help him stay awake)

he pulled off the road
and kicked Frank out of the cab

all he said was -

Bullshit walks.  You are outta here, mother-fucker.

A harsh reaction, but they had hit Utah.

Frank's
next piece of luck
was a rental
and a pretty girl
from Cambridge, Mass.
heading for the airport.

She was to teach him
the pleasures
of flying

and put
all that

back & forth and

behind him.

(3) FRANK'S ENCHANTED WORLD VAUDEVILLE (starring Frank)

FRANK SR.

One sober night, Frank talked about his dad.

You know, he said, Frank Sr. was a conjure man, and he had a way of magic that wasn't like all those other old men who called themselves conjurers.

Dad didn't rattle bones, or blow cigar smoke, or chant mumbo-jumbo, and he didn't summon nada and call it something.  He didn't do of that phony scare-you-to-death stuff.  He did something real, and a whole lot deeper.

Dad had this beautiful Stetson hat he called his "Stag O'Lee"

Black beaver

tall crown

wide brim.

He wore it to special occasions, and when he got home, he'd fix himself a whiskey, light a cigarette, balance his hat on the table - tilted on the crown - and here's what

He would look inside

and watch his whole day

play back in living color

That hat was like the 11 o'clock news.

A few times, if I'd been out with him, he'd mix up some milk and cherry brandy for me, and let me watch.

That was fun stuff - and I liked that milk.

But the real deal with daddy and his Stetson would happen when I wasn't supposed to be around, and had to sneak my way to watch.

Run-down saloons'

back rooms

forty watt

bare bulb

spiderwebs & dust

stained old

round old

old oak tables

rickety chairs with cane backs

Old timers

women and men

in dark clothes

drinking whiskey sugar sweet

with 7-Up or Coke

smoking up a blue haze

No music, no talk, no sideways glances

no sign of life except they were upright

drinking and smoking

And daddy

up on a stage

reaching

into some dry wells

and dark holes

of who knows who's soul

running centuries of memories

moving his hat in a long arc

over those hunched over dark clothed

women and men

Good times would rise up

young men young women fast cars

fast smiles

babies

Hard times

house fires - cyclones - divorce - loss

Worse times

brothers sisters gone missing

cancer - war

I could feel those things

Those old timers

I don't know

what they felt

sitting

enraptured

sipping their drinks

smoking

sometimes shuddering just a little

sometimes a sob, sometimes a cackle

a revival in reverse

until daddy finished

that long sweep

of his hat -

and

end of show

time to go

those old timers -

stunned

moving slow

one by one

or two by two - helping each other

out

into

bright light or

dark night

time of day

depending on them alone

by what they saw

or what they remembered

or how they felt.

Room empty, dad would salute the surroundings with an old fashioned flourish - hat in the air, and a deep, sweeping bow -

and vanish

just

like

that.

Uh-huh.

Dad went to deep places, and he paid by being like the air.  He didn't belong to anyone, and there was no keeping him in one place,

until finally he was gone - just like the air.

Anyway, that was Frank Sr., that was my dad,

I don't do that stuff, and wouldn't want to know how anyhow.

Things happen to me

     I just don't inflict them

          on others.

Willie Dixon - The Seventh Son

(2) FRANK'S ENCHANTED WORLD VAUDEVILLE (starring Frank) #2

INDEPENDENCE NOIR

        (respectful nods)

The morning of

his thirtieth birthday

Frank woke up

eyes a-flutter

then tight shut

in a hotel bed

right arm out

alone.

OK -

except

he remembers -

somebody.

No false moves now

Frank rolls slow

up to his elbow

eyes slit

nothing

     something -

nagging.

Bathroom

dark

leaves lights off

wet towels wet floor

robe crumbled in corner

torch tossed in tub

tiara hanging on shower head.

Must-a been some party, Frank.

Cigarette butt

in the sink

American Spirit

lipstick on the filter -

Her?

I don't recall, Your Honor.

Frank

throws the butt in the toilet

splashes water

wakes up a little less dead

gets dressed -

Where's my hat?

His star-spangled baseball cap.

Son-of-a-gun, she took my hat.

Shakes his head slow

skulks out the room

leaves by the stairs

won't trust his stomach to the elevator.

sunlight

Chinatown breakfast

over greasy and ham

rice

wonderbread - lots of jam

weak coffee

mumbles some give and get

with the cashier

not really up for bi-lingual banter

pays up - walks out

scans the street

looking for relief and -

Hey!  That's my hat!

Star spangled

waiting for a bus

Number 14 pulls up

just like that and

just like that

out.

Frank watches to

crest of hill and

gone…

gone.

Slumps on bench

looks at feet

smells cigarette smoke

American Spirit -

lipstick on the filter

picks it up

thinks about it

takes the last hit.

OK, keep the damn hat.

Frank color of concrete

fades into the city

city fades to black

firecrackers in the alley

with liberty and justice

for all.

             

                     ROCK SALT AND NAILS