Haywire

California's an Okie bent over a 63 Impala gas station parking lot no idea what the fuck went wrong this time, skinny ass overalls big fat mama still in the car asking how the hell you expect gravy outtta beans and meanwhile the EBT card got stuck in the machine down to the Buy Rite U Pik We Pak Go Slo Eat Shit imitation cheese food product settin in a parkin lot waitin for a ride to bingo hopin nothing more goes wrong on the phone, repeatedly overpowered by waves of homebrew, unmarked bills, and magnetism, people arriving from all over, lined up, disillusioned, working for the local arm of the global economic conspiracy, unemployed, confused, working overtime and weekends as a temp, kicked out of church for smoking pot, dizzy as Tom Dalin hungover unwinding down Franklin running into Randy Peterson crooked in his ugly Cornbinder, a wealth of rust and firewood all over the Mopar scrap, broken on its back in the creek, a buck, spare tires, dead bodies, burnt remains and glorious promises.California's that old milkweed winding around the cross planted where someone died in an awful collision, a series of collisions visible from Fickle Hill as uplifted ridges lined up in the blue cool sky headed East, Van running the California Western freight over the collapse of Nine bridge that soft morning, clattering empty flatcars and the next day's mail into the curve, a mess, unexpected, it wasn't long before they had it all cleaned up....