3.
THE FRANK O’HARA ANNUAL DUNE BUGGY RACE
The proceeds from this event will be spent
on souls less fortunate than us. And if you
must, here, you can insert some ambiguous
quote that you feel might make this mean
meaningful things or allude to some allegory
and be done with it. It’s island time, time to
shed our masks at last. Let the race begin.
Someone’s always at the finish line hoping
you will win. Some of us have summer homes
here. Some are home and some are not. It is all
right to take a stroll at night across the dunes and
tall sea grass as long as you bring it back. There
is no telling who among us might enjoy a stroll
ourselves along that same path. Driftwood bonfires
burn along the beach at night. They barely light
the road. You can see they say the fires on the
island blaze as far away as the mainland coast.
I tried to describe how we buried you, gravely
covered you with sand along the shore, sure
our grave sandcastle would endure but waves
washed away what little we could save. No matter
how we tried to fortify it, the tides betrayed our
benevolent interment. Impatiently you asked, “Who
invited Mr. Death along on vacation? Did he bring
his own towel and sun screen then?” Yet, endless
summers always end. Comings and goings wash
over us, and we forget to schedule amnesia.
When winter at long last makes its yearly reservations
this place becomes a ghost town. There is nothing
left to do but drink and dream. Still it seems you must
proceed with caution and look both ways before crossing.
4.
THE ARMIES OF SALVATION
The dark-haired girl carrying the tray of plums looked
longingly at my elephant gun. I know I could fuck her
but it wouldn’t be much fun. “It’s not fair for you to be
the only one here with a gun,” Loretta Frisk said to me.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “Derek Peabody has a derringer
concealed in his boot.” “Which one?” Loretta asked.
“I told you, Derek,” I said. “No,” she said. “Which
boot?” she asked, lifting the black patch over her left
eye. “What‘s wrong with your eye?” I asked. “Nothing,”
she said. “It’s an affectation.” “What isn’t these days,”
I said. “Have you seen a doctor about it? It looks red.”
“So, which one?” she asked again, letting down her patch.
“Well, he’s only got one leg so it should be obvious,”
I said. “Yes, but it might be a disguise,” she said. “He
once disguised himself as a clown on stilts.” “What good
are stilts to a one-legged man?” I asked. Loretta slipped
back into the crowd. I turned to my friend Chet and said
above all the chatter, “You see that tall blonde with the
black patch over her eye? I could fuck her if I tried. Not
that it matters.” “No you can’t,” Chet said. “Yes I can,“
I rebuffed him. “Look,” Chet said, “That’s Loretta Frisk
and she’s a Duchess. She owns an island off the coast of
Malaysia and wouldn’t be interested in you. And that
dark-haired girl with the tray of plums? She’s a secret
agent sent here to infiltrate the place. She’s hot on the
tail of the thief who stole the memory of the saber tooth
tiger. If that falls into the wrong hands we’re all screwed.
Besides, that’s not even an elephant gun you‘ve got,”
he said. “It’s a broom handle.” “I know,” I said. “But it
makes me feel sublime.” I asked, “Do you have any
cans to cash in?” “None that you’d care to know about,”
he said. Somewhere in the night I heard a jungle
cat growl and knew our paths would cross someday.
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