Lubbock

Frankenstein walks
through the little college town
a skinny dreamy monster
engineer boots clumping
through Mexican botanicas
past quincinera shops
rented houses with dusty
lawns, trenches
dug by massive pit-bull
mongrels staked by the
front stoop. Stainless steel water-bowl
overturned. A thousand ticks
around the neck and
behind the ears.

He walks into ancient
Sanford and Son thrift
adobe-hangar full of
skinny 1960's suits, American flags
half-empty board games
console televisions like
crippled cathode Buicks, odds and ends
peeking from corners
florescent track lights
hanging dusty orange
light through forgotten high
windows.

He slogs through flea-markets
empty-pocketed, chain-smoking
to the sound of his boot heels
and chinking boot buckles.
Warm sandy wind whips his
olive-drab trench coat back and
forth around his boyish
framework. Greasy nicotine clouds
jet through the nose
like Dirty Dragon.