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.