December 23, 2022

Guinotte Wise

THE CANDY-APPLE RED-ORANGE 1949 FORD HOT ROD CUSTOM CRUISER SAYS GOODBYE

We called it a lead sled
low and slow, but it was
only one of those. It would
do 100 with no exertion.
Chopped and lowered
headers and pipes let you know
it was around, like a summer
storm announces itself
not always unwelcome
painted red-orange like an
aging hussy with too much
rouge, but floor that sucker
and it was young again
ready for the night, the 
streets, a show-off drag with
a fancy Ram pickup whose
driver was open-mouthed in
the rearview mirror, or slow
maneuvers around the town
square. A rebuilt ’88 Mercury
under the hood, carbureted.
A kid behind the wheel, a kid
from the fifties who wanted
a do-over, a mulligan, just one
more shot at all of it again. 
The blue-dot taillights said
goodbye as it slowed to turn
the corner to old yesterdays.
Good horses, dogs and hot
rod cars are truly missed.
 

from Rattle #77, Fall 2022

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Guinotte Wise: “I had a ’49 Ford in high school, primered, lowered, heads, carbs, pipes, etc. Very Rebel Without a Cause. But I did well in English class. And I liked poetry. That was 67 years ago. I never gave up writing and I acquired another ’49 Ford along the way, and it underwent a lot of changes, like me. But it got beautiful. I sold it this year, and as the new owner slowed at the corner, the (illegal) bluedot taillights flickered at me. I went in and wrote this poem.” (web)

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November 29, 2018

Ekphrastic Challenge, October 2018: Editor’s Choice

 

Hanging Collage by Courtney Carroll

Image: “Hanging Collage” by Courtney Carroll. “Locked Brakes on Blacktop” was written by Guinotte Wise for Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, October 2018, and selected as the Editor’s Choice.

[download: PDF / JPG]

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Guinotte Wise

LOCKED BRAKES ON BLACKTOP

When he drives the grain truck in, what
the hell, parachutists in the trees! Cannot
believe this shit he says, farming is not
a spectator sport, used to be from seed to
silo not much else but baloney sandwich
damn hydraulics give out sometimes but
not much else to pull attention, now black
smoke blowing airhorns too brakes are
locked and tires striping Florida blacktop
jumpers out there silks aflutter standing
right there in the deathwish lane I will
do them in by hand if I jack-knife this old
Peterbilt and live to get my hands on them.
Sur-fucking-real he says, spits Red Man
into a coffee can misses the sonofabitch.

from Ekphrastic Challenge
October 2018, Editor’s Choice

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Comment from the editor, Timothy Green: “There’s something delightful in the contrast between the no-nonsense trucker and the surreal scene he’s witnessing, and something mesmerizing about the half-monologue’s voice. As often happens, it was the poem that I enjoyed more every time I returned to it. And the ending, where he spits out his tobacco but misses, is perfect.”

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September 10, 2018

Guinotte Wise

THE WHY OF BULL RIDING

They asked a cowboy why he rode, 
said he was too nervous to steal and
too lazy to work. There is no answer,
maybe a test of one’s inner gumption
though there are better ways to figure
that. It’s sure as hell not money, as in
why are you a poet? The same man
said, when asked, how much he made
that year. Twenty-two thousand was
the reply. How much were your 
expenses? Twenty-three thousand.
Not many answers in the game,
sometimes just a look away, a 
clearing of the throat, a grimace of
discomfort, a sidle toward the rodeo
office to sign up, draw his bull. He
hopes it is a good one, and hopes
he makes it to the buzzer in one
piece, decent score, hopes the old
Dodge starts, gets him to the next 
one, the big one at Cheyenne, see
what luck will bring. His ribs are
taped but beer and pain pills mess
up his edge, adrenaline is what he
needs, that’s his eight second cure.

from Rattle #60, Summer 2018
Tribute to Athlete Poets

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Guinotte Wise: “Rodeoing made me feel alive, alive-oh, as the Irish ballad goes. Then writing fiction and poetry became my arena. Same feeling. The more you put into it, the better you get, like anything else. Rejections are just flies on the windshield on the way to an acceptance, a ride to the buzzer.” (web)

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