Embarcadero

by Jeanine Webb

that summer I believed in zines and sent for the East Village Inky
and That Girl from Pander and dreamed of sending
my folio to Quimby’s Books
now dead links all

got my car mirror smashed
3x in one week
lived on pasta and potatoes
and couldn’t always
afford sliced bread
it wasn’t unique or
interesting

in Isla Vista Santa Barbara the aggro asshats
grating our ears at five thirty in the morning
when their jungle juice and natty ice ran out grackles
cackly at dawn I was convinced they were rats for
a time when I had to borrow rent on Halloween
I saw several Jesuses one with a life-sized cross
railroad ties and far too many “gynecologists”
a crunk patois down at Freebird’s supposedly
golden burritos and Seth nearly lit his hair on
fire at Dog Shit Park and down in Anisq’ Oyo’
Park Pirate and the Bike Man with his hair twined
with daisies and silk ribbon next to the ATM
in the spot where Kevin Moran was shot next to
where the bank burned in riot now a lecture hall

Shawn transported us
who drove racetracks
and lived in secret shame
of his spoiler which tipped off his car
we drove with
the hills coronating
and Kill Rock Stars
cranked on burned CDs
we made books and went to impossible
rallies with professors in double denim
and sent careening around corners
we were conscious of valleys and
took direction from the sea
singing Neutral Milk Hotel and David Byrne
and Karen O and Carrie Brownstein
and Modest Mouse before they got sober
and smooth
our voices bounced against the
capsule of the car
and ricocheted
back to us tinny
and brave

I wanted to be something in boots
this far I had defiled