Collection

1. Nathan's Story

The hammerhead cruises Bourbon Street at night Its blunt head abruptly shifts With no regard for rhythm It sniffs cantankerous at saxophones Swallows whole the fast-food meals Gumbo and rice in styrofoam

The delicate feet of the alligators Grope downwards through the water Quickly learn the crevices of awnings The gators accumulate on the larger buildings And gather new rumors of food

Nathan Tillman has seen no alligators Sharks in the waters are still Dark rumors Nathan's aerobed® lies soft against his skin So soft it threatens to give in And release him to the bottom

His body is wrenching for water He's had none in almost two days And water surrounds him Water surrounds him, but it reeks Of gasoline and sewage Cadavers, alcohol and chemical spills

Its skin is a patina of dead chickens and cooking grease Christmas tree balls, bubble wrap, plastic bottles, voodoo baubles Popsicle sticks, puffed rice cereal - Cereal, my God, food - Human or dog feces And the endlessly breeding mosquitos

The arches of McDonald's® are visible Above the water The grocery store, he knows, is about 40 feet away Through the water he can see the top of the building Maybe three feet down

He clenches his face and unloads himself How can he keep the mattress from floating off? He must deflate it, knowing that means He must blow it up again, by mouth As he did this morning When it is time to escape