Sunday, November 2, 2008

Guts


I used to work on Capitol Hill,
fixing greasy tape decks
in a basement 
filled with solder smoke
and forklift exhaust.
This guy named Corey
used to come into the shop
with rare bootleg vinyl 
to sell for crack
when he came up short
between paydays.
I picked up a lot of good stuff
and fed his habit
with currency
he turned into
little off-white rocks
he liked to burn
deep into his 
stained glass lungs.
Urban alchemy.
They called him 
the Warehouse Rodent.
Jibb and Fish 
said he looked like a yeti
with his coarse beard
and missing teeth.
His smile 
looked like a 6-7-10 split.
I thought he looked like
Ben Gunn 
from Treasure Island.
Cory used to call me Hitler
over warm swill beers
in the back of the Comet Tavern,
the blackened pancreas of the city.
I never knew why.
Cory used to come to Model Rocket gigs
and request Back to the Beanstalk.
He knew it was about him
and his addiction.
He loved it,
the song and his addiction.
Cory finally got shit-canned
for throwing a pry bar 
at the warehouse manager.
He disappeared 
into the dark, wet guts of the city.
We're all 
slowly getting digested here.
I saw him 
one early summer morning
after a long summer evening.
I was coming up for air
from the Sunset basement speakeasy.
He was with some faded transients
gathered for a parley
behind a rancid dumpster.
I boozily called out his name
and gave him a surprised hug.
He smelled like shit and ammonia.
"You better get out of here.
This ain't any kind of place for you."
That's all he said.
I don't think he recognized me
in the small dead hours of the morning.
For some reason,
he came into my thoughts 
while riding on a bus 
going up the Battery Street Tunnel
into the city.  
The exhaust stained tile
of the tunnel's interior
reminded me of villi
in a small intestine.
Cory's been consumed,
digested and expelled as waste,
passed through the Battery Street Intestine,
right out the Alaskan Way Colon,
through the Harbor Island Anus
into to the rainbow slick of Elliot Bay.
We're all slowly being digested here.


2 comments:

Anonymous said...

good un. Urban alchemy... like it.

redgrevillea said...

I enjoyed this...one of the things I really like about the Last Rung is that it transports me to the pacific North-West USA, I'm in Seattle and I'm wearing my trenchcoat and I'm walking through the rain at night, soaking in the vibe and imbibing the whole feel of the zone.

It's nice to be transported away from Where I Am for even just a little while occasionally..

Great stuff Scaughty!!