HAYES HOEY
Uri leaving town.
Ah ah ah I awoke in cold sweats and drool and the vestiges of a dream of a us sat down at the shore, toes in the water, ass in the sand. Hot sand. Scalding. And the enormous ocean. And there were fish everywhere and we were throwing them back into the water and there were two wales and one of them was red. I can’t remember the rest but the feeling glows a bedroom cherry — Today, I will leave this place like so many others and I will forget my toothbrush or a loving sense of a word or something behind. Always behind. And feel it, even if not. And I’m leaving for a long walk and you can stay here while I’m gone. Lizard my way out of the apartment. Wish I had a narrow staircase to descend. First floor has no effect. Into the day, sunned and chilled. Red jacket, red pants, laundry from the bannisters fan damp farewells. How sentimental. — Daisy, I am going. Don’t forget to water the cumquat. I’ve never forgotten a plant in my life, Uri.
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I pissed in the cabbage.
I present to you, a debt. The punishment awaits. Burdened fog, fickle and childish but, Oh my, cools the pie. ‘The neighbours call it resting’. I make the jump from loose singing to anxious, naked, shaking and shaking. Check what time it is, are we late? I just spoke with Anvil, he’s alive but unwell. We’ll go see him in the morning when the fuss has died down and the factory gets a chance to make a phone call. One part kitchen, two part legs, yes, legs run astray, yes, legs for days, ‘How could you?’ Listen, I know my efforts keep the carbon flowing but how about a real bet? My house against your iron gun. Understand? Yes, absolutely, this is my language, my kids grew up here. They changed the locks everyday with their warm little fingers and challenged the horizon to push, push, push the lead out.
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Sweetpea and Uri at the well.
I come upon you pretending to drown at the bottom of an empty well. Gasp gasp. Thrashing on the bottom of an empty well. “Is it disappointing?” “Hard to say, expected at least to find something down here.” “Tell me, Sweetpea, what tickles you in the night? Does old Incubi come tracing your lines? I heard it used to be a dolphin. Covered up the hole in his head with a bobbed wig. Bring you a big, cold one. Well, guess we shouldn’t talk about it... But, then again, fame is the fashion of the gods. Put em in a movie. All glassed skinned and supple.” “Say what you want, if the breast slipped from the fabric, I’d eat. Not gunna say no.” “True true.” “Even cannibals eat in the garden”, “True true” “Why won’t you show me the weather you promised, Uri? Change the tides.” “I will do it in time, I always do it in time. Sweetpea, let me ask you, have you ever actually seen the doubled-edged sword? It’s so easy to swing. A child could do it. Swing it this way, that way, this way, could cut a delicate breeze...” “No.” “I see...” “Uri, I don’t believe in anything. Nothing but indulgence.. I have faith in getting drunk. ‘Silly kid, you say. Silly, silly Sweetpea, you say. But no, I am eternally naked below the fig, sucking sugars through the tiny openings till I am fat and tanned in the sun. I would like to be the prize pig.” ”So you’ve thrown yourself in the well?” “Very good, Uri, you can see... I came here for a drink and thought maybe I could try a swim. it has been so long since that hard rain came. It’s always sunshine. It’s always warm summer day. It’s dried me up. I miss the mud. It wraps my ankles. Coddles me the way I like and thanks me for my company and, honestly, I would too.
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Hayes Hoey spent his formative years in Hall County, GA. He is the author of the chapbook Csikos Post and directed the short film L'Orange.