dead in nebraska
by Hezekiah Allen
Taylor
"As far as creativity goes, I might be using a little
bit of someone
else’s music.” –Vanilla Ice
joey ramone died from lymphoma, jenny told me. i told jenny that my
childhood was now dead. “literally,” i said. she said that
jackie o. had
died from the same shit. “how ironic, you know,” she said.
i didn’t know
what to say. how do you say, “i have joey ramone in my trunk.”
i had
called from outside of wichita. i was headed north.
i think they told the world he was dead to throw off suspicion. someone
might know i kidnapped him: stuffed him with candy bars and sweet,
bubbly soda until he climbed into my car rather willingly to take a
nap.
i guess the trunk could be confused with a loveseat. it does have a
nice
interior.
he’s been back there through a couple of states now. i left him
animal
crackers. he should be fine. the turnpike from tulsa was the hardest
part. i could hear him kicking at the backseat, even over the
repetitive, whirring washboard of the old road.
i open the trunk at the motel of alliance on highway 87. i already
know
what i’ll find. obviously fish aren’t the only things i can’t
keep
alive. i drive him to carhenge, lay him out flat on the heel stone,
one
matte-gray ’62 caddy. when they find him, i’ll be long gone.
Joey Ramone [1951-2001] Memorial Outside CBGBs in NYC
Photo by Jack Szwergold of Royal
Journal
Francine's Version
-- Hezekiah's Version -- Inspiration
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