Piggly Wiggly Vandals Seized


me and joy hit the smalltown wal-mart for paint

some of that basic shit, three bucks a can

swung the bluegreen minivan around and scooped

johnny and walker, everybody in black

hoodies, black jeans, dammed up against that wet cold

excitement like we could outrun stupid


i wanted joy with fierce soulstupid

latenight piggly wiggly wandering kinda pain

you know what i mean. like love is culled

from the pickings at the bottom of the trashcan

and with a little light you can brush debris away with black

hands and make something good just to taste a little scoop


the boys were crouched behind us, joy was cooped

up next to me, nobody breathing too hard, the stupid

of our grocery store scandal a black

scar on the back of the business and aerated paint

sticking in our throats as joy’s black eyes scanned

the bluebrass night. i couldn’t feel my hands for the cold.


you wouldn’t believe me if i told

you me and joy crawled into a recess of the greenway dam and scooped

graybrown caked dirt out of the grout and fished cans

out of a drawstring bag and i had a big stupid

tremor wring my fingers dripping neon pink paint

and i dusted their shoulder with my lips til the earth turned them black


i rode past the pig for two straight weeks expecting black

and white crown vics to corner me in bright cold

blue, to slap me in my guiltpainted

face with sprayed cinderblock scooped

from behind the building, but found instead stupid

ivory walls the silent pulp of a pecan.


sometimes when i swim now i can

taste the angular black

of almost like the stooped

guts of summer gone cold

or else a sullen scoop

of chipping paint


between me and joy: the canned cold

the black streambed outscooped

the stooping swagger of a distance, a wall, a pane.

Copyright © 1999 – 2019 Juked