Cruising the Mission for Hookers with the Buddha and Billy*
Hunter Austin
Turning left onto Capp from 16th riding south
in my splotchy green Dodge Valiant
dents and peeling chrome bumpers
rust underneath
looking for love
Our bellies filled with burrito from Puerto Allegre
The Buddha never had Guacamole or Jalapenos before
or burritos
His smile and belly full
lips burning
excited
a dab of green at the corner of his mouth
he looked content
well, he is the Buddha
Billy sat in the back
With his bean and cheese
seemingly uncomfortable
Out of his element
He started to recite “The Art of Drowning”
with his mouth full
He said the word panic
And a saucy kernel of rice flew
over the seat
landing on the top of Buddha’s
light brown large pudgy hand
The Buddha glances at me
Serenely sideways
Smiling he turns up the radio
All along the watchtower
And Buddha’s smile spreads throughout the entire car
And I have to open my window to let some of his smile out
Billy realizes there is not
some kinda way outa here
as he leans his elbow on the broken
pull down, torn and cracked green naugahyde armrest
and sighs
The Buddha say’s “Hol’ up”
and motions to the right with his chins
Billy begins to perk up
I pull over
The Buddha and Billy are rolling down their windows
The two strumpets pacing in the alcove
of Rite-Aid’s delivery entrance
hesitate
staring
The Buddha’s smile embraces them
They float to the car
Brunette and platinum flesh filled fishnets
Pink satin hot pants brimming with backside
Bound up breasts spilling up and over
Fighting with Buddha’s smile for control of the car
Genuinely happy to be here
Billy has climbed out of the window
He is sitting in the space where the window was
his elbows rest on the faded Dart’s roof
his loafers on the cloth and vinyl back seat bench
The women are transfixed with Buddha
Billy can’t seem to get their attention
I guess enlightenment is not only its own reward
Platinum Marlo flip says
Billy?
What kinda name is Billy
for a growed up man
Billy wriggles back in
Frustrated
He folds his arms over his chest and sighs again
He’s not upset
because he will go home
He will write a poem about tonight
It will turn out the way Billy Collins wants it to turn out
The Buddha will be in it and
I’ll be on the cutting room floor
with the burritos, the Dodge and
the hookers
content to not be
snowed by the truth of
Buddha being the ultimate Mack-Daddy
*Billy Collins: America's Poet Laureate 2003 - 2004 just in case you didn't know that bit of trivia.