1. Badger King Starts His Job

    It is the early morning hours that Badger hates the most
    hocking up the spit
    the taste of whiskey and cunt from the night before
    not bothering to brush his teeth
    before his breakfast of worms and wild onions.
    Badger punches pounds of dirt and cans out his door
    grumbling about his neighbor Grackle
    who likes the mornings--and says:

    Weee WeL COme KINGGG


    Badger only grumbles
    mumbles something about eating Grackle's fucking heart out one day
    drags his belly along and into his Plymouth Fury.

    Badger King only likes horses
    sitting in the long grass, settling down
    to a light lunch of grubs and small mice
    not bothering to wipe the au jus from his long chin
    he watches the thoroughbred's gait, its shoes
    turning the sun like pinwheels.
    He wishes he had long legs instead of long claws
    that arch into the earth like black moons.

    Later Badger King would course through stables
    looking for plumeless baby swallows on plates of dry straw
    taking time to notice which horses had been switched to
    the new nylon harnesses instead of the old leather tack
    giving them a naked feeling for only one race…
    He would pay attention to any swelling in their thin ankles
    how much they would sweat after a good run.

    He would ask them their age,
    and about the names of their parents--
    take notes
    scratching stats in the sand with his long hands for the Racing Forum.

    By then it was 4:00 and Badger was thirsty,
    Climbing into his Fury
    cursing the horse shit he collected between his toes
    He headed for the Cavern Lounge
    Where he could get a drink,
    One that would burn
    then come back up hard--warm
    opening his nose
    getting him ready for what he liked best
    more drink.

    

    2. Badger Draws the Line

    Badger farts then vomits
    leaving more room for drink.

    The fur on his back hackles with every swallow of grain
    until Crow calls:

            Last Caw!  Last Caw!

    With every scent masked in sweet corn
    Badger foists a smile on his lace
    every action masked in drunk-dream
    how the keys feel like beetle shells in his palm
    how the wheel runs through his hands like smooth tree roots
    how the windshield tunnels through the night
    as if he were moving quickly through the dark halls of his house.

    Badger wakes up in the irrigation median going 80
    it is where he draws the line between the reflectors
    growls to himself and vows
    he will either quit drinking or quit driving.

    Badger quits driving.

    

    3. The Badger King Eats No Salad in His Salad Days

    It is the early morning hours that Badger hates the most.
    The way White Winged Dove whistles:

        WHOO--it’s gonna be hot WHOO--it's gonna be hot.

    Ladder-backed Woodpecker agrees with Dove
    pounding HOT HOT HOT HOT HOT into yucca
    his words vibrating out
    mixing with the first waves of heat.

    It’s enough to make Badger growl.
    It’s enough to make him sick with heartburn.
    It's enough to make Badger want to KILL.

    Badger kills Dove and feels better.

    Badger's heartburn is incessant,
    enough to make him wince and pant while eating grubs
    enough to make him swallow chalk
    and the chalk is enough to make him swallow beers whole at lunch.

    ALL THIS IS ENOUGH TO MAKE
    THE BADGER KING CHOKE AND SWALLOW
    CLUTCH IIIS CHEST AND ROLL RACK HIS EYES BLIND.

    All this is enough to make the hounds howl in nervous rescue.
    It is enough for Fox to lay Badger down and cut open his chest,
    licking the Badger King's heart free of thick slick spongy fat,
    then sew him shut with the coarsest of hairs from a horse’s mane.


    4. Badger Wakes Embittered

    It is in a room as white and cold as winter that Badger sighs.
    He misses the smell of beer and piss
    the smell of lingering gas
    of pickled eggs.

    Fox tells Badger he is fat,
    that he drinks too much,
    and cannot lick his heart clean again.
    The rat is stale and tastes too much like rotten snails.

    Badger King Groans.
    It is not a life worth living
    a life without spirit.

    He grumbles
    moans--
    eats head nurse Wapiti.

    Even after he finished her sinewy left thigh
    and devoured her thick marrow guts,
    King had an empty feeling in his stomach


    5. The Badger King’s New Vice

    Here are these early morning hours
    Badger begins to slowly hate the day away.
    He hates the bland taste of a meatless breakfast,
    loathess a light lunch of lean fish.

    Badger longs for a drink
    For whores and horses--for a quick fix fantasy.

    God speaks in cracks of wind.
    God whispers Santa Ana,
    as Badger King flips the switch.
    The R.C.A. eighteen inch
    screens the greens of acres
    across the tube in a normal hue--
    Then, as wind hits wire
    King experiences marvelous Technicolor
    racing from the screen to his eyes.

    It was that moment that King discovered television.
    It was that brief moment King saw the best picture ever.


    6. Chronicle of Badger King's Full Circle

    Badger rips out I.V.
    grumbles at front desk till Squirrel
    out of fear gives Badger back his loose tweed suit
    and yellow tie.

    Badger King calls taxi
    and heads for Circuit City.

    In their warehouse
    King inspects Sony Spectra Vision
    Zenith Super Spectrum Color Watch V
    a Mitsubishi arched colorscreen with chrome monitor.

    Cable is not enough for King.
    The King demands Satellite.

    There is a rhythm in waiting for a perfect picture
    where Badger King begins to hate in thirty second intervals
    Hating Morris the Cat the most
    until the picture of the next talk show pulses into his eyes again.

    Badger satisfies his hunger with Light and Healthy T.V. dinners.
    He waits longer till his lashes gray, his teeth loosen.

    It was hot and well into summer
    when a flash of lightning brought a tube of brilliance,
    Badger becoming happily blind in his last breaths
    watching NOVA.

    Morning is the quietest of times.
    The horses bay;

            The King is dead
            The King is dead.



    Copyright © Henry Oso Quintero, 1999.  All Rights Reserved.