Talking jive over a riff like ‘Hot Rod Lincoln’  Words by Wayne Slater-Lunsford, 1996

The Moon Man is Missed

The Moon Man is Missed

Well now I know you’ve heard about the hotrod race
with the Plymouth and the Rambler setting the pace
Well I’m here to say that story’s true
‘cause I was the captain of the Rambler’s crew (RIFF)

One night we were climbing Palmdale Pass
My Ambassador cookin’ with unleaded gas
I pulled up beside that Valiant pup
grinned and downshifted to pass him up

The MoonDog smiled and stomped his throttle
and I put down my soda bottle
his Plymouth whined and my Scrambler roared
and Doug shoved his foot right to the floorboard.

Doug honked his horn and I flashed my lights
My old 360 was feelin’ all right.
The Valiant was goin’ mighty fast
but my Banana Boat was a-pullin’ past.

Then out from under the Valiant’s hood
came a rattlin’ roar that didn’t sound so good
That Plymouth’s exhaust pipe was rusty and old
and it blew right off the manifold!

The sound it made was like a Gatling gun
but somehow it made that Valiant run
like a scalded dog on amphetamines
and the MoonDog looked like he’d stained his jeans.

Well that car rared back and it popped a wheelie!
Doug’s saucer eyes got hard and steely.
His knuckles turned white and his face turned red
and the Valiant started pullin’ ahead.

We passed a ‘Vette like it was standing still
and got some air at the top of the hill.
My Rambler hit hard on the other side
But the Valiant just began to fly!

That little Plymouth with the pushbutton gears
had stayed on the road for 32 years
But it seems its slant-six 225
had waited ‘til then to really come alive.

The car kept flyin’ higher and higher
its manifold pourin’ out blue-white fire
and as it climbed right outa sight,
the last thing I saw was those tiny tail lights.

Well, I never saw Doug Moon again,
but I think about him now and then
and when the Moon is high up in the sky
I wonder if old Doug is passin’ by.

Dr. O scrubs it out

WayneSL 2013

Blood spatters flake off
rub off
and wash away,
becoming brighter as they diffuse into the water and the sponge.
flowing with the mountain track dirt
leaving smears of chain ring grease behind.
But then there’s the gash.
Softened by the salty water
the scab loosens and parts of it wash away.
but fibers have formed
between the scab and the new flesh hoping to heal.
As Dr. O gently pulls off bits of the coagulated mock skin
the fibers stretch and snap
some without hurt
some with a twinge
and then it is time to finish with a sudden deft jerk
a flash of pain
and release

a few gentle dabs around the wound,
exposing raw, newborn skin to light and air.
and then where there is some dirt from the crash, scrub it out.
where infection has begun a colony, scrub it out.
peroxide foams out the villains
and a little of the flesh as well.