Kristen Gallagher
from Bob Loves Zeppelin
I am from the pocket reality
of rural Florida
where Bob, like some
kind of contemporary
apocalyptic Jesus
landscapes for the rich
in exchange for steak dinners.
In the theater of real life
he was method acting
and lost control of his art
somehow he forgives all the
large-lawned oligarchs who
without their inheritances
would be left with
only the truth
that they had an uncle
on the wrong side of the red scare.
Is Bob with machete
tool or traitor, servant or slaphappy
will he hack or charm his way
out of the overgrowth, or
are we post-vegetation
burning with the question
how you doin, no
really, how you doin
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what if we can fix Bob
maybe get Bob into art school
get Bob the life Bob was never promised
on the hillside of equals
does Bob realize he’s being played
by a richer, shittier Bob oligarch
ever-expanding the lawnification of Earth
by selling lawns off to his other selves
for way higher than market value
only making a thousand more Bobs
poorer, richer, more cruel
than the rides Bobs had taken us on before
can’t Bob remember
how he abandoned us on a roadside in Florida
poor old Bob, before he took to the new
big infection of Bobs it’ll take a hundred years
to cure. Now everyone will finally get it.
Bob stands at the edge of the poison water
pontificating nonsense in the form of
waving his arms, combing back his hair,
his former lovers praying for him, or is it
paying. Stop smoking in the truck!
But Bob’s a bum wrench
a bad pathos paint job
socratic pancake makeup.
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I was stranded on the side of a road
glistening with slick rain
but hey I got a lot of likes on instagram
people love you when you’re down.
now a roadside angel
I would swoop down on former me and say
you freak, don’t get in that truck!
and remember you can’t drink the trailer water
it’ll make you sick.
our bodies have taken in more
than they can process
Earth still contains lithium
from the big bang
the faded red mylar balloon yells fire
at the water’s edge, but Bob
insists things don’t last forever
he always chooses to learn the hard way
the knot of being, tied to a dead tree
three swords and a death cloud rain in my heart
the new lightning will transform us to a burn scar.
I don’t know, but as hot as it was last summer
I still chose the wild jasmine of the highway
where we smoke cheap government cigarettes,
bald eagles line up on the electrical wires
and Janet’s makeup melts in the humidity –
she’d do anything for a small yard with
two lawn chairs and a blow up pool.
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Kristen Gallagher is a writer living a bi-regional life between Queens, NY & Norristown, PA. Her books include a recent chapbook New American Summer (Spiral Editions 2026) and before that 85% True/Minor Ecologies (Skeleton Man, 2017), Grand Central (Troll Thread, 2016), and We Are Here (Truck Books, 2011).