CHARLESTON
you look like a mark, my
former professor points
out to me. we drive around
north charleston. he greets
someone in gullah. he points
at the port through an open
window. he points at the
glovebox and suggests i get
something to put in mine.
CLARKSDALE
she came to write the
next great novel about
the delta, and she now
works in the local library.
GOLDSBORO
the councilwoman leans
over, eyes bright with
questions. her district
hasn’t seen much of the
investment. now it’s on the
table. she asks what will
happen to the property taxes.
the mayor leans back and sighs,
white fingers on his khakis.
CHAPEL HILL
the grass reaches our ears,
our hips, our shins. we stare
at the clouds. not touching, not
even reaching. not mentioning the
song that we’re both dancing to
in our heads, talking our
way through every last other
thing to prove we both know
just what we can’t say.
APALACHICOLA
the purple ranger rips up
the gravel, then the tiny
geriatric hops out, slurring,
you want to see my dogs?
pointers in the bedcage.
hope you know where you’re
going fast. last week a
strange boy talked tall.
they found him right
about here. we’ll be out
tonight, hunting deer. he
gives detailed directions
to a site other than where
i’m going. i proceed to the
original destination.
NEW ORLEANS
the streetcar carries our new
friends from the hostel into
the night. as we pull up to
the vieux carre the visitor in
charge broadcasts the request
that we front-pocket any
valuables. a sharply-dressed
local on one of the plastic
seats raises his head from his
shoulder and says to his
companion “dumb bitch.” they
laugh as the visitors descend.
MARSHALL
we mill about at the craft
brewery with the tattooed
whites and their dogs. my
longtime friend’s has short
hair and sour manners. she’s
in the bathroom and i hold
the leash when the hound
lunges at a stroller. i snap
the leash and the jaws snap
inches from a newborn face.
her father laughs away my
mortified apologies. we
play a little hackey sack.
BELLE CHASSE
the engine cuts out when
the boat coasts up next to
an off-kilter residence. the
boatman talks FEMA. this house
used to stand over there, he
gestures. hell of a storm.
and these pretty crabbing
vessels catch more in a
day than we did in a high
school summer. they sell
the crabs to new england,
where they rebrand them.
CHATTANOOGA
arriving under thick stars
i expect more tact from
my companions. the camp
host has the accent one
expects of a tupelo tree
but our case is made with
DUDEs and HECK YA MANs.
bemused, he lets us through.
sleep, and then we meditate
cross-legged in the morning
light. my eyes open on seven
kids crouched in a circle
around us, gawking, until a
mother rustles them back
to the grill for breakfast.
TALLADEGA
nice shoes, the cashier
says. the boy eagerly thanks
her but has mean brows.
got them from my cousin.
they look a little big.
yeah but i’m growing.
tell your mom i said hi.
BOONE
the hotel’s front desk separates
me from a woman with beautiful
dark hair that falls below the
counter. upstairs, i call the
front desk number about I can’t
figure out the ice machine. she
comes to show me and–when the
ice is in the bucket–we talk about
how she ended up here and
not in Malaysia. we spend
another hour not talking while
the ice melts all over the floor.
people downstairs enter their
own booking numbers, find
their own room keys and unpack.
FAYETTEVILLE
ketchup congeals all over
Wendy’s countertops. i
grab some napkins for the
glovebox. no one really there
but the staff rush as if behind,
cashier arguing with the liver-
spotted manager about the
speed of the fries. they come
out cold when they come out.
ATHENS
in a bar, he says he likes
my shoes, but he means leave.
Not used to backing down
or to color as context i
say i like his shoes too.
corbin squeezes my shoulder
in a loud “no” but my engine
runs hotter. i don’t recall
the rest. my shoes must
have took me somewhere.
MEMPHIS
shining young men put a
ball through the naked
rim again. grass reaches out
of the pavement for a rebound.
the repetitive windows
of the complex stare. three
miles east, i line up for
barbecue sandwich, while
aristocrats in sky blue
leggings (mfd. in vietnam)
walk past with iced lattes
(ethiopian bean) and cell
phones (congolese cobalt)
waving in their hands.
CHARLESTON
rico the rose man
accosts us on king
street, says he has
tied thirty thousand
palmetto roses. we pay.
he ties off another
and insists a passing
groom pay, too. we
learn some technique.
CARRBORO
i bring an italian colleague
to the diner where i eat
with neon landscapers who
converse in spanish and
wrinkled widows with high
waisted pants and drawls. to
an order of fried chicken the
tiny woman behind the bar
replies CASH ONLY.
my friend asks if she’ll
take venmo. at this strange
sound, the plastic forks on
styrofoam plates stop their
stratch. i hurry to produce a
bill that cures the silence.
PEMBROKE
the local deficit elicited
such delay: these trees fell
in a hurricane four years
ago. i met the town manager
once on an airplane. this
lady doesn’t look much him.
she asks me if the town would
exist without the spring
powwow. i wonder what she
means by exist. the tribe
lost their federal recognition.
not much comes in the mail.
but the hurricanes seem to
pay them special attention.
PADUCAH
At four in the morning i
shouldn’t be driving but
i couldn’t sleep in the
sleet. my buddy is from
close to here, i think,
but doesn’t have a couch
here now. at night the
neon signs downtown look
especially old because
none have been turned on.
SAVANNAH
a headache wants to crawl
all the way into my spinal
cord so we pull over into
urgent care. everyone else
is there for a hazmat
certification. my buddy
uses the oxygen bar while
i get attention. a few
antibiotics and we’re back
to sweating in april.
TUSCALOOSA
when i talk to strangers
i sometimes end up holding
a firearm. also true of
friends. this time on Amtrak.
he’s just yakking away about
some job he had, then we’re
about to pull into atlanta.
i’m trying to hand back the
pistol he pulled out of his
pants but now he’s pulling
a giant birthday cake out
of a duffel bag. his kid
can’t believe it. fourth
birthday, the dad explains.
that cream cheese frosting
tastes good. the nine lays
on the seatback table.
DURHAM
every saturday, twenty or
twenty-five four-wheelers
and dirt bikes come roaring
up the main drags. the guys
wear face coverings and
bright t-shirts, popping
wheelies. weekenders mutter
as the engines squawk.
no one will chase them.
the guys enjoy themselves.
OAK RIDGE
these pink aster seem sweet
enough to cure a mistake so
i bring them by and we talk.
as if completing a course of
antibiotics i return with
chrysanthemums but leave
them on the porch because
she’s gone. when i follow
up with snapdragons the blue
chrsyanthemums are wilting
there. i’m not sure why but
i fail to grasp the hint.
DOUGLAS
the volvo tucked behind
the brush palms contains
scraps of a life and the
remainder of a man. he
shakes. his dog comes out
of the river and shakes.
he says he shot those kids
in Iraq and got away with
it. He says his wife emptied
the accounts and got away
with it. he said he got
away when his brother
crashed the car in ’88.
he offers me bad vodka.
when i walk off to eat my
beans he says I LOVE YOU.
Skookum Atlas 