Poor Sammy didn’t know what happened

to the Cheezburger. He wanted to tear the curtains

to shreds tonight traveling in Vegas, eating seaweed,

damn fishy flakes. Between him and Baby,

they had five dollars. Mother had fifty five dollars

in fifty cent pieces, and a stash of Chinese tamales

stuffed in her purse. Ni mo yung, she said,

before she grabbed a pair of scissors and hacked

off a clump of his hair. Traveling with Mother

was like eating bad broccoli and bone meal.

Her nasal cells had ESP. Mother knew when he rolled

in egg shells. She knew it couldn’t be the Eskimo.