We are pleased to present our next Poet to Notice: LANCE GAMBRELL
He never calls himself a poet and perhaps that’s the best kind. I’ve always been able to tell when reading his work that something special was going on. There’s a palpable longing and an honesty of spirit all spread out before us on the page—see for yourself:
I KNOW KING-FU
His usual 5’7″ height shot her a suggestive, squinty-eyed grin. It was his best, …his only weapon.
Her slender body revealed recently trimmed hair that sparkled in the light. “I have a boyfriend,” she returned fire.
He grinded, knodded, and walked a semicicle around the table, before tugging at his invisible belt;
After one last nod the tech broker, “Yeah…but I know kung-fu.”
Unsure if she had heard him correctly, her giggle won the moment.
SNIPPING THE 6 PACK RINGS
He waited until he could see her in the peep-hole,
“Any second now.” Snip, snip.
232 miles inland, without a storm surge since the cretatous era,
The doorbell rings…
“Oh hey, I was just taking out the recycling.”
Even the sensitive guy, wants to get laid.
She would giggle so convincingly, that my heart would begin to race like a well-trained athlete. Soon, she’d mix in the word “stop”, about a half an octove higher, frequently, pausing to suck on air, before giggling some more. Sweat would pour from my pits, “I’m going to pee my pants,” she begged, with laughter far too loud to be acceptable for study hall.
All I knew…was that… I, …was in right region. And as Spring turned to summer, I disappointed her more and more. Graduation was coming.
God damn it, man. What I am learning…well…this is, for all of humanity, all of the 12 th grade.
Her laughter, gave way to fatigued giggles. But usually not before the librarian came by to give a warning. And spoil what I needed to know right then and there.
Study Hall gave way to the most anticlimactic class of all.. Physics. The rest of the year, I watched pitches pass by, without a swing.
BLEAK BUT TRADITIONAL
I have watched the leaves turn colors. Now, with frost, they lay dead on the ground.
I pretended to be strong again today.
Stretching out, in front of the mirror, l looked myself dead in the eyes.
“Weight not reps,” I knew to focus on the needs of others. Starting with the family, mild grunts became roars. “House work and cleaning, uh,” squinting now, “letters,” “digitize,…errr, cloud backup…”
Rest, and breathe. “Listen to the hidden needs.” Add some more weight. Breath.
Without complication, and while maintaining focus, “sorry for,” focus on motion and emotion,”
Finish strong. “I don’t want…to be, taken off, water. Just accidentally inject me, with some…errrr, thhhing, to, gettt. [Huge breath] The…job…done.
Add it all, the weight that is…”Eerrrr, I love, you, allllll.”
THERE IS STILL TIME
There is still time, to park at Marc and Vic’s.
I don’t care what they say, I love summer best, in Las Cruces. Better yet, stop the time machine at Tim and Suzanne‘s, in the summer of dub.
Half of my friends, work for a shitty local pizza chain. The others work for the dream machine called academia. Arguing about another Pablo Neruda poem. And the value of locally sourced Pabst Blue Ribbon.
I wake up due to declining levels of ABV.
Lucas is about to go to work because we’re done poking his Suzuki 50cc belly. But, I’ll be back, for dollar lunch, and my first class at 11:30, still AM.
POSTCARD FROM PHANTOM RANCH
The sights of the inner canyon are breathtaking. Color changing rocks, reflecting the rays of the sun. Each layer opens a chapter of the Earth’s history, and with our friends Merrell, Kelty & MSR we travel back in time. The rocks around me can be as old as 1.8 billion years in age. FYI – A billion seconds is 31 years! But now, in this moment of time, I am on the screened-in porch of the bunkhouse; listening to the wind play with the leaves of the cottonwoods! Join me for a trip next year!
Tonight’s Inner canyon menu:
personal Caesar salad,
wish you were here,
LANCE GAMBRELL: Born, Fresh Prince of Eau Claire; dried by the desert wind, lives at a ditch, married a cottonwood.
One thought on “the writings of the late LANCE GAMBRELL — AMERICAN HERO”
Hug, hug . . . giggle, giggle.