In Helena
the bag boy at Albertson’s
stared, said, You like Eminem?
Knew he meant my shaved blond head,
I said, Yeah, I like him, do you?
Oh yeah, &
dropped his head/
quick
to some cracked
hip/hop in his head,
the middle-aged cashier
in the 70’s smock confused.
It was a burning question, he said.
Then you have to ask it, I said,
& he spun & dipped/
punched
the air from the bag’s body,
his green watery
eyes our new dangerous sea.
He said, I get off at 9—
Remembering 18 & dangerous I wanted
to, but said see ya later/
& he popped
up beside me
so I could hear him breathe:
you don’t know what you’re missing
I kept walking,
yeah I do, and it’s good.