Red Tide

There’s a smell here that stands my hairs on end
Dog hair in the heater
Gas pumps and cedar
And jackknifes on the 9
And sea birds choked in fishing line
The clouds say «hush,» but the chainsaws mush on
Through Custer and Columbia
Salty tentacles shrink in the sun but the red tide is over
The mollusks, they have won
There’s a smell here of gravel and cigarettes lit
When the match made them sweet
When the engine turned over and beat up our street
Oh, that was a day to remember
I remember because of the fires that leapt
From the caves of the things that have not happened yet
When I think of them now, they smell to me quite sinister
I want to go back and die at the drive-in
Die before strangers can say
«I hate the rain»
«I hate the rain.»