Black Oak

Deep inside the country
He went out for some air
Amid an awful night of eating household objects on a dare
A tea towel, a handful of refrigerator magnets
And a watch

He staggered through the mudroom
Got sick out in the street
The towel in tiny pieces
Magnetic letters neat
And now arranged in such a way that they should spell his lover's name
And time was of the essence

The engine turning over
The summons in the shop
He could not recall the number
But he knew it was a lot
His belly warm with drink
He leaned into the freeway in the night

Investigating exit ramps
Waiting for a sign
Scanning up the A.M. band
Sliding down the vine
He felt his stomach turn again and pulled off at the park
She was standing in the black oak
Carving poems in the bark

Planted in the café
Her bloodied saber drawn
Marking up the manuscript
Hard against the dawn
She turns on the recorder
And pulls a nervous breath before she speaks
"7 A.M. Tuesday, January 9
Realizing this may put my career on the line"
The café man approaches
With a corded phone and tells her
"It's for you"

Somewhere in the static
A disembodied voice
The circumstances changed
She will not have a choice
The line dies, crackles soft, then sputters back to life
"They found him at the black oak
They dug him up last night"

Something scratched out in a tattoo
Tuesday, I know none of that's true
Learning everything you do
Tuesday, I know all about you
Something scratched out in a tattoo
Tuesday, I know none of that's true