1.

Around the time this log cabin 

sold moccasins I’d see

Wild Willy Crockett 

on the corner 

with Pea Soup, Spider, and the Goose.

Taller than the others,

he stood with knees rigid, 

pigeon-toed, gazing 

up and down the street,

searching for someone with a car,

a summer chick on the make,

or Crazy Benny,

who’d buy him beer.

Balanced on a line 

between cool and caricature:

the shiny D.A.

French-inhaling Camels,

rocking with Dee Dee Dinah, 

whose tits stuck out 

of her sweater like oil funnels,

chugging three beers before the game 

and coming off the bench 

to score six straight points,

graduating high school with his pants

on backwards.

            2.

Now the log cabin 

sells organic and new-age produce, 

and Willy Crockett stands 

at the corner of tofu and prunes.

Fifty pounds heavier, 

still tall.

Wears a toupee 

that looks like roadkill,

carries a cell phone 

clipped to an alligator belt.

Assistant manager 

at the local hardware store, 

divorced from Dee Dee, 

He tells me he belongs 

to the Church of the New Kingdom.

Says the old days are long gone

—Praise the Lord!

Toes pointed in, 

he cradles his yellow basket 

of flax oil and sulfur supplement,

gazes at displays 

of crystal pyramids,

Himalayan incense,

and Navajo dreamcatchers,

still searching…