Idiolexicon: 12/4/2009

Mike Young

All I Want to Ask the Ghosts of Hewitt Park

Ghosts of the Western Pacific rooming house, do you sip on the hydraulic runoff? Do you scale the memorial fence? Play soccer with the refugees? Court the biggest shivs? Did you watch America send Matt Lauer freshly shaven? The girl was painted with five vertical lines per cheek, one of which was erased each morning. The homecoming king bled from the leg outside of Subway. We asked Tong to leave the tennis team after he used a cabbage for a pillow and wouldn’t sing along. In the hills a dance called wulu accompanies the singing. The wulu dance commenced after dark. Men looked on and women took part. They stood in a circle holding hands. They wore no ornaments. Even the silversmiths are animists. Ghosts of the Secret War, where did you bury the smoke grenades? Is the CIA invested in our silt? Where is the flawed eagle and can I be a Mono Boy? The guessing game employed the pair of marked and unmarked bones usual in all of northern California. Is the opium anew in the belly of the guar? O the widows, O the mountain canopies and orchids. Rocket–fin trees and the people of the hills, begging the reporter to save them. I will hack a new ferryboat, I will carry you on my songthaew. With a companion, both having their heads covered, she was stood in a ring of pine needles which was set on fire and the girls were told to escape from it. Hewitt Park’s new boccee ball courts, Hewitt Park’s Mono Boys playing soccer in the dark with the marked and unmarked bones. We asked Tong to lead us through the jungle to the refugees, in a raft made from a B–52 fuel tank. America, go fuck yourself with your Matt Lauer. Ghosts of the hunted, do you want to trade limestone? Those who do surrender are sent back to the jungle to hunt us. I think the UN considers me a very small person, like a piece of hair. I want to see a city before I die. Ghosts of Oroville’s memorial trains. Ghosts of the stabbed in the night of soccer. We asked Tong to let us swear our bodies against him until MC Oroville forgave us. We beat ourselves with tennis rackets inside the Section 8 apartments, outside the VFW parade. I will haunt Hewitt Park like a tazer on the calf. I am the reporter who saved exactly shit. Uncork the grenades and smoke the runoff. Tremble in the soccer balls I’ve chased out to the street.


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