Directions on How to Ruin a Town

dacatia was a passive village
mountain-snug and rarely stumbled upon

except for a few rollerskaters
searching steep hills for death

and i lived there, making my living
lining coffins with red velvet

looking forward to the isolation of winter
hot apple cider and roasted chicken

but you, my god, tore through as scissors
named bradley with greetings from bel air

after just a month the town newspaper
listed twelve accounts of a miracle

and the editor began to privately worry
that The Dacatia View would slip into tabloid

then came that date, october 22, a sunday
when you spoke through bradley to a crowd

of merchants and skiers at the local hotel
claiming the town's water would stifle aging

allowing the beneficiary a lifetime of hammocks
and august lemonade and maybe even sex

but only if combined with Bel Air Salsa
as a vicious drink of the lord

bradley told of god testing the concoction
on a five year old dog named missy

who was born during the great depression
when my little town was just a well