Kiwitober 2021 - Inktober's autistic cousin - Thank you for a great one!

Prompt: GUNT

guntpepe.png
 
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Day 11: Trancher

We took-over 40 acres
of heritage dust bowl,
preserved just the way
my great, great
grandpappy left it,
after venturing out
in 1932
to get the newspaper
and cigarettes.

Oh, great great grandmammy:
Wherever your cis-gendered
soul resides now, know that
your husband left you for
New York City;
changed his name
to Millicent;
dressed in silk stockings
delicately embroidered
with fighter planes;
and danced 'til dawn
at The Cotton Club,
and became the lover of
William Randolph Hearst.

Know also that he
wanted me to have
this land.

To transform it,
the same way he
transformed himself.

Amazing what you can do
out here with a large herd
of Alpaca.

Turn it into a
slightly smaller
herd without
even trying.

Sheer them in
a circus tent;
sell the scraps
of fleece -
rustically beaded
with small clumps
of faecal matter -
to men dressed in
powder blue
wolf costumes in hotel
convention centres.

This evening, I make
tacos so hot, they
melt one of the
temperature dials
off the stove.

“Those ain't real tacos,”
observes Mary, the new girl.

She transitioned
the hard way
in Juárez -
The local cartel on
a gelding spree.

“Real tacos have a
soft corn tortilla shell,”
she mansplains.
“None of this hard shell
turtle-taco bullshit.”

“We'll dampen the shells
with water to make them
more authentic,” I suggest.

“Do what you want.
Those'll never be
real tacos.”

I send her
into town
in the truck
for authentic
taco shells,
then phone in
a tip to US
Immigration
about an illegal
seen stealing
a vehicle
off a farm.

Sprawl on the bed
with my toys,
transforming
Optimus Prime
from a truck
to a robot
and then
back again

While the girl
who we rescued
from her partner,
yesterday, cries that
she's a real woman;
and begs to be
returned to her husband.

“We're all real women here, sister,”
I yell through the wall.

I go outside
to escape her
sour attitude.

Glower down the
sniper scope
of my AR-15
at a pile of
weathered-warped
two-by-four,
willing it to
assume the form
of an outdoor
shower block
for the help,
or a work bench,
propped up in
one corner by a
flimsy wooden offcut.

The next day,
pushing a
100-gallon drum
of uncut glitter
up the slope for
the fifth time,
like Sisyphus.

Earl rolls up
in his truck.
Confederate flag
emblazoned across
the hood.
His horn blaring
Dixie ahead of him.

His boot prints leave behind,
in the dust, a coiled impression
of a rattlesnake and a message:
'Don't Tread On Me'.

I've never seen his face.
There's always something
in the way.

Today it's sun-glare.

“You can glue spiral horns onto
the heads of those alpaca, and feed
them glitter 'til their poop sparkles,
but they ain't never gonna be
real unicorns,” he says.
“Not with those ingredients.
Not on this hard land.”

“This land is my land
and the alpaca can be
anything they damn
well want to be,” I reply.

“It'll be our land after I make
an honest woman of you,”
he says, tossing a single
rose onto the ground at
my feet, as he turns on
his Cuban heel.

His departing wheels
blanket his gift in dust,
fading out the redness
in the petals
distilling them
to 1930s sepia.
 
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Day 11 - Tranchers
Lyrics:
A-yo come and find me at the tranch
me and all the girlies who will never your be your man
we're de-cocked and loaded, you don't understand
that you're always standing under me when standing on my land

ayy always wanted to be a farmer
so we started a foundation where we can all breed llamas
don't worry bout the profits, we're the profits of this cause
check out all of the pieces bout us that all treat us like we're gods
just like with ourselves, know/no we'll never be complacent
mobile mongrol militia, shouldn't've left the basement
but here we are we armed, we're crusing through your neighborhood
Penny and the Salamander wishing that a cissy would
wishing that this weather would be warmer
our cardboard condominums wont cut it for much longer
saving up oour sisters in our tacticooly uniforms
Took the D out of Tenacious, replaced it with a Unicorn

A-yo come and find me at the tranch
me and all the girlies who will never your be your man
we're de-cocked and loaded, you don't understand
that you're always standing under me when standing on my land
Click to expand...
ngl, this one kinda catchy.
 
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