Sunday, June 24, 2012


I showed Bobby, that old Navajo elder, my brand new cowboy hat. I asked him what part of the country it was styled after. It had a distinct presence, really, if you know what I mean. Not something I'd normally wear.

Texas - damn straight, Missie, a 10X besides. Mean's it's tall and hard, and can't be blocked no more. It's straw, like a working man would wear, but some kinda resin coating to stand up to the weather and it fits good and snug so it won't blow off in the wind. Bob's gotta 4X, far more pliable, it gives with the wind and rain and it's shape can be shifted to almost any form.

I pointed to the crow's feather tucked in mine, molted from one of those ghetto crows where I come from, found in the alley by my front door just before I started this journey, and I told him how they sometimes talk to me in their guttural city voices. Trying to warn me, I thought, or, maybe, encourage? He looked at it for a time, and said it was medicine - it can cure cancer. I figure that's a good thing, 'cause I've been smokin' a lot more lately, you know.

a hawk moth takes
its last sip of lilac -
shale in the Bakken


Jean Spitzer said...

Couldn't hurt.

Wear it in good health.

altadenahiker said...

I'm looking forward to a summer full of your stories...

bandit said...

I'll try to throw in the odd rant or two - just getting my blood up.

Sandra said...

Gee, but you have a talent for haibun, Willie. A story-teller from the old school (the first comparison that came into my head was Steinbeck).

Hope you're getting these published somewhere.