Writings That Deal With Undertones - Americana and Nostalgia.
Pool Water Blue
After a day spent in the tumble dryer heat, the men who had been searching for asteroid dust in the desert walk out of the batwing saloon bar doors. Their smoke filled hair blows in the wind, like the dust over a badland rock. Their pool water jeans soaked with bourbon.
I’m stuck in a small outback Cactus motel, I watch her get changed through the gaps in her netted lace top, the sun hits it like a dusted Texan chain link fence. From the window the sunset is a mustard yellow seventies Chevy. Police voices from car radios; it’ll be for that kid again, the one that tries to make sparks from lead.
Standing there looking like a nineties schoolyard bully with slick wet hair and striped t-shirt, a face as harsh and broken as the shoreline rocks. The sea is the colour of a washed out roman painting of the sea. I’m Standing waiting in place, like that token cleaning cart from a nineties action movie.
He sits inside an un-used nineteen fifties water tower strewn with bullet holes , peering out at passers by, pairs of friends ,wondering what bound them initially. Since his metal detector got bust his new past time is to collect small insects from the desert floor in (pearl coloured) film canisters.
I met her at a diner strewn with plastic orange mugs and a black and white tiled check board floor, she shuffled in like a chess piece, it was November the fifth, she told me she had to come indoors as the spits of rain hitting her plastic hood made the same sound as the fireworks popping in the distance, and she liked to know what was what.