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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “Seasons” Down in the Dirt, v171 (the May 2020 Issue) Order the paperback book:

Order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology Outside the Box the Down in the Dirt May-Aug. 2020 issues collection book		get the 422 page May-Aug. 2020 Down in the Dirt 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

About this Long a Year Ago

S.A. Boyd


I was throwing boxes out of trucks
‘round a thousand an hour
on my way to sell CDs
for beer money.
I’d been trying for a year or two
Ta get on where my buddy worked,
Landscaping with
Some yee-haw’s and a bunch of Mexicans,
Because it sounded like a joke to me.
Six days a week, at a quarter less an hour,
Had me laughing all the way to
Checksmart, where I lined
Up with the Mexicans.
She takes my I.D. and courtesy card,
Counts out six hundred dollars.
“How come yours is smaller than theirs?” she flirts.
“Gimme a minute,” I smile,
“You been checkin’ theirs’ out for years.”
My girl picks me up and
We go get energy drinks.
Talking about the old days when,
I’d wait for the bus downtown, after working
Four hours at FedEx, and
A street man came up, where
I stood scab knuckled
Holding a Big Bear bag.
With one eye glassed and the other cracked he asked,
“You homeless too?”
I tell her stories from work.
How everyone gets in on the word games.
It’s funny to us that their jokes
Are proverbs containing donkeys and dogs.
Like how one of the yee-haw’s
Tried to convince the Mexicans
That chicken breasts are
Called chicken titties.
Till one day this shy little Mexican
Astutely pointed out to the wise guy,
“Chickens don’t have titties.”
“Oh, how come?”
“Because roosters don’t have hands.”
Maybe the sun interferes as
The hours fly by.
Tongues tricked at lunch time.
We crack on each other,
With broken sentences,
When our very names are difficult to pronounce,
And our gestures are dumbed by brick and shovel handle.
I gather that one of them has walked
Three days in the desert
To landscape in Columbus, Ohio.
So, what tha fuck?
We try to learn the words for “year” and “long”
And fail in good humor, frustrated,
As it all translates wrong.
Him asking me how long my dick is
And I questioning how many asses he had.
We spent the rest of our lunch in silence,
Thinking of where we came from,
And how to say it.

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