One League Out From Land; Men in Vans

ONE LEAGUE OUT FROM LAND


Do you go to heaven or hell
or just stay in the box?
the home health aide mumbled
around Nana’s bed. Pulled
the top sheet tight as if ready
to yank and roll her up
like a snapped blind,
leaving a bare pane of white
in the middle of the pinched,
witch-hazeled room. I met Nana's eyes
then, some light stubborn to rove
still in this world, one league out from land,
fathoming the best direction for travel.

**

MEN IN VANS		

I’m parked in the alley between the highway onramp and the apartment, 
and the guy who lives in the van starts to put a young girl in headfirst. 
She wears a white pinafore with lace at the hem over a red gingham blouse, 
and black shoes that buckle shiny on the side. Her satin peach legs tell me 
her mother never let her out to play in fierce sun. Her shoulder-length 
strawberry blonde hair is unkempt as the calyx of wild strawberries, 
and a hairbrush drops from the man’s back pocket. The guy catches 
me watching him and fusses to smooth the folds of the dress. Wait. No, 
it’s a mannequin. Not the mannequins of home sex use, but more like the life-
sized dolls we won at orphanage carnivals. Even though the doleful face
of this man resembles my celibate uncle’s, he has no right to hold the girl
like that, thick, purple-stained fingers gripping her chest.