Day 4: Somewhere in the Everglades, Ranger Dan Continues
to Feign Unconsciousness

I dreamed I slid you, uniform and all,
between two plates of fresh-cut glass and screwed
the vice clamps tight ‘til you were pansy flat—
see-through as a jar of green-blue Dippity-Doo
and just as slidey. But don’t pay me no mind,
my dearest darling baby lambie pie pee, go ‘head
and sleep the sun down: looks like you could use
a small va-ca-tion—just like the Wichitaw Lineman
and any idiot could tell you that guy’s famous.
I wrote a song once. It starts out, “Mystery bruise,
mystery bruise, when will you deliver my dog back?”
What are the odds? Us together? At once? At all? At last?
Me and my new truck, with you: a big, khaki
dreamboat, you clumsy illegal gator trap tripper?