WAITING TO DELIVER
by tony gallucci
Okay. Okay. 10 p.m. quiet on Sycamore Street. Long ago the window slid open, the screen easily pushed out, on the road to daydream-not daydream, hope-not hope, wishing, thinking-hard. Over the redwood fence, across the alley, across the whitethorn field to the cutgrass diamond, empty in the all-quiet of midnight, stars and moon and milky way, so far, so soon to the moon, so soon to hear on that same radio, "one small step for man," sitting in shadows, the church spire, the Lutheran cross, the big fingers of palms waving gently the night goodbye, the distant headlights of late night returners to dark houses, to sleeping german shepherds, the moribund porches, the flitting curtains, the windows open-not open, the sons home-not home, the days gone-not gone. The short walk in what's-left of brush-filtered moon to the house school and war built, on the edge of the town wishes built, to the bed on the edge of becoming-not becoming, wishing-not wishing, dreaming-not dreaming, one father waiting, stammering too for the fears we both held in the palm of our hands like a horsehide baseball waiting for a three-and-two count, waiting to deliver.
MY RADIANT SIN
by tony gallucci
Okay. After 10 p.m. Long after 10 p.m., out beyond Sycamore Street. Highway 83 going west, in a midnight blue blur at 148 miles-per-hour, flying over overpasses, skipping, barely controlled touchdowns, blowing west past Pharr, McAllen, Sharyland, Mission, La Joya, Sullivan City, past neon palm trees and still, dark orchards, wafts of 3 a.m. tortillas and donuts, and cops at coffee shops, past eastbound freight trucks and husbands hurrying home, past waddling 'possums and nighthawks, past thumbers and shiftless and sneaking north for the American Dream, past the race for time and the race for races, past drinking too young, and too late, and too much, past roaches and joints and all-night joints, and dusty dimlight backrooms Lord knows what goes on there smelling like murder, just pretending, like so much violence is just pretending, past constables can pick out something wrong at a quarter-mile and it drives a car with bad shocks and dingleballs on the mirror, and if that's you that's trouble, and if it's not don't make it your trouble, past trouble standing on the side of the road, past trouble in the County Line Market after hours, past trouble at Emilio's bar, and Emilio's trouble, past trouble running naked through Colonia San Miguel, ole San Miguel not doing a good job of being un santo, past trouble on a black-and-white flashing blue and red, past green slipping from one dark hand to another, past pretending, past the real thing, past lying in the gutter on Jackson Avenue real thing, past hands hard-cold-steel-cinched behind the back real thing, past real names hurled, thrown, spat, past los ojos del tigre, and coy kittens, past jade eyes and emerald, color of money, past eyes rigor mortis, color of bile, middle C note humming death, past archangels and Beelzebub, bubble baths and blood, past Henry and Maria, past Jamie and Julie and John and Jose and Jimi and Jehosaphat and Jennifer and Joseph and Jesus, oh sweet Jesus, past church doors open and chapel doors closed, past crosses and cruxes and calm, and screaming noise-not noise, and only the sound of wind in the window cracked open to bleed out the sin and hot stench of breath too hot for breathing, past windows hot breath fogged, past feeling, too hot to fuck, too cold to die, past dying, past past, past present, past future, passed by, passed by, oh radiant sin.
Tony Gallucci has worked with over 100 stage, film, radio, television, and concert productions. As a filmmaker, he's currently producing and directing nine projects - among them the documentaries The Extra Mile, Cold & Glass, War Canoe, and Ode to a River, and the feature film Diogenes/Dionysus starring Graham Douglass and Peter Navarra. Tony founded the scriptwriters group SevenSeditiousScriptSmiths and the award-winning student writers collective Locker Room Writers & Thinkers Workshop. He is beginning pre-production on The Perfect Dance Company, is a founding member of The Hill Country Players, and a charter member of Artists Without Frontiers. He was a musician with Lyle Lovett, Clint Brown and Brad Lind in his younger days, and now is sort of retired from a 25-year career teaching zoology and writing, and coaching high school and college soccer and football. He resides near Hunt, Texas where he does media production, chases bugs, and teaches kids at a boys summer camp. His chapbooks and tapes are all currently out of print but you can keep up through his blogs at http://milkriver.blogspot.com and http://tonygallucci.blogspot.com .
A NOTE TO THE POETS OUT THERE
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