RAISING ARIZONA (1987)
off the Interstate, somewhere
in Missoula, Montana
because of a sudden blizzard
that threatened to whisk me
into the hinterlands
I cracked a tall boy
and just caught the start
on cable TV
of the Coen Brother’s
homage to human bellowing
a chase scene revolving
around a package of diapers,
a Minotaur on a Harley
and a lady cop
But he did appreciate fine art, I said.
He ate people’s livers, she said.
But not alcoholic livers, I said.
He’s a fucking serial killer, she said.
With a doctorate in psychiatry, I said.
And that other guy skinning fat girls, she said.
Not your next Christian Dior, I said.
He loved his dog more than people, she said.
Emerging from chrysalis is no picnic, I said.
I’m glad she shot his ass dead, she said.
So was the Senator’s daughter, I said.
Did he really have to chew up that cop’s face, she said.
While listening to Bach’s Goldberg Variations, I said.
Why are you defending that madman, she said.
That madman won an Oscar, I said.
But Jodie won it too, didn’t she, she said.
Good things come in pairs, I said.