Ah, Bird Poop Van
Ah, bird poop van,
there in the far corner of the fast food lot
where wind-blown paper congregates,
and you squat against the curb,
a rusted Ford Econoline home,
spattered with a thousand puked starbursts
of smell on your dull finish,
a metal fadedness of has been.
Your owner in his tourist-trash hat
and long dirty hair hanging to his collar,
squats on the splattered grass,
grizzled before his future demise,
a throwback to Ashbury
where he used to panhandle.
He sits with his wilted wildflower
in her faded jeans splotched with patches,
sipping their mocha coffee on the matted grass
wary for the squad car to cruise by again,
and roust them out of their corner nest
under the gilded arches.
But, oh, you rest and rust so easy–
at least there are no fowl in sight.
First published in The Bicycle Review, February 2010
Daniel Wilcox's wandering lines have appeared in many magazines including Word Riot, The Centrifugal Eye, Write Room, Mad Swirl, Camel Saloon, and Unlikely Stories IV. Three large collections of his published poetry are in print: Dark Energy, Psalms, Yawps, and Howls, and selah river. He recently completed a speculative novel which is wandering. Before that, he hiked through Nebraska, Cal State University Long Beach (Creative Writing), Montana, Pennsylvania, Europe, Palestine/Israel, Arizona... Now he resides with his wife on the central coast of California.