Someone will look into my eyes
And say hello
You're my very special one
But if you close the door
I'd never have to see the day again
--Lou Reed
Near 11pm the crowding at the Taco Bell trough outside my window hits its peak.
They idle in U-shaped noxiousness--gold plated Escalade, Honda CRV, BMW E90, Toyota Sienna, 1980s Cutlass no paint on bondoed fender olive hood mismatched to maroon body rear bumper hanging into street.
AC hums on max to cool restless perspiring double chin neck to leg flab pinched by nylon belt--to think outside the bun.
Stomachs search in Kierkagaardian anguish a moment of gloried hope as nacho cheese beef gordita nears mouth. With bite brown drips to upholstery. Ice grabbed from 32 ounce pepsi moistens paper napkin--dabbing dabbing, dabbbing--but it's no use. 360,000 gallons of oil spreads through the Kerch Strait--58,000 through SF Bay--shedding death from Black Sea to Muir Beach.
Clyfford Still 1949 No. 1 (PH-385)
1949 oil on canvas © Estate of Clyfford Still
Clyfford Still Museum
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