White Solo

The work of AK.


Best Friend

Best Friend
- AK (2003)

He passes through the transparent doors
silently. He is walking home,
past the aged playground,
the coarse brown grass laced with snow.
I watch as he goes by the school
bus in the chill March air. Gasoline
and new spring awaits him.

I remain inside with
the paste and chalk dust,
in the bland gathering outside
both church and classroom.
My throat tightens,
my face is wet. The tears
are sour in my mouth.

They are like nori prepared by his mother.
She was always in the kitchen while we played games.
Cheers came from the computer
and his father entered the house.
They needed to eat, and I needed to leave.

I begin my slow journey in
the chill March air. Stones
fly from my feet.
Cars zoom
by and I look both ways.
I see the stop sign in the corner of my eye.


The Owners Were Married This Afternoon

The Owners Were Married This Afternoon
- AK

It's fucking freezing out here. Hurry the fuck up
and get out here with my fucking Cheesy Gordita Crunch
damnit! I can only pace this sidewalk so many
times. Goddamn employees! He's been at that counter
for an hour waiting for our motherfucking food and no doubt
he'll be waiting another fucking hour. Fuck!

Whoa. Is that car running over there? That car is
fucking running. Stupid small-town idiots, just because
it has never happened here doesn't mean it won't.
Nice car too. Hot damn, a Honda Civic. Beats my piece
of shit anyway. And it's right fucking there, with
the damn keys in it. I didn't know Santa was comin'
in February now. It explains the lack of shit I got in
December. And this has my name all over it. Fuck
Taco Bell, fuck my buddy, it's fucking Christmas.

Leather seats too, hot shit. Power locks, windows, automatic transmission,
reverse, here we go. Holy shit! This bitch next to me
just starts howling. How the fuck didn't I see her?
But the door's open and she's jumping ship. Fucking
drive damnit, shifting, pedal to the floor, door slams.

Oh fuck! Ugh! This ain't no fucking pillow. The door was fucking slamming
and I watched it. Look forward you fucking idiot! I'm a motherfucking idiot hitting
the motherfucking Taco Bell sign. Shit, this car ain't going nowhere, the cops'll
be here in a minute, and I've got to get this meth off of me quick.
I'm so fucking out of shape right now, but I'm running. Damn
I don't wanna lose this crank, but damn I don't wanna get caught with it.
Huge fucking snowbanks all around, I bury it. I don't know
where I'm running to no more.


About February

"About February"

A coil spring mattress that has lost its bounce,
a transparent plastic sheet, duct tape,
and a rope comprised this makeshift sled.
The inaugurul run was mine, first having been told
you must go headfirst when sledding on a mattress.
I took the hill, barely an incline, but adrenaline still
kicked. An outcropping of snow jerked my joyride to a halt,
not too kindly, scars in this battle for fun. As I struggled
climbing, seeming more and more a mountain, I wondered who
the hell thought a mattress would make a great sled.
The next rider preparing, I stopped, thought, and leaned
backwards into the snow, an angel to create,
the first in years.

Now I sit at my desk with my stereo and my
wet pants, setting my mug of hot chocolate
on the meeting notes for Monday, thinking
that I just did all the things that I used to say
February was all about.