Amble any direction in the desert and you'll arrive at Gullible Mesa. Perambulate just right, with the wind at your back, you'll sit with those who hide from the world.
Not 'cause they be timid-like, but 'cause they be smart.
Marty lives in a sink hole. He likes it. Except when the monsoon rains come. Then he cusses a'couple of blue streaks and uses the water to wash his long johns and such.
Flick'n a scorpion away with my walk'n stick, I call'd down the hole to see if'n he be home.
"What goddamn'd varmit be holler'n down my hole? Go away. I don't want noth'n!" He yell'd.
"It be me, ya ornery galoot. She of Two Spirits."
"Thought ya be DEAD! Wait, till I get my pants on," he yell'd from the bottom of his lair.
Marty finally pop'd his head over the lip of the sink hole. He looks kinda like a human Mickey Mouse. Ears so big, he'd get slap'd to death in a strong wind. Face full'a crinky whiskers. Only his pointy nose and beady eyes peek out from that bush.
I think he eats through a straw, 'cause you can't see his mouth. Just his whiskers bob'n up and down when he's talk'n to ya.
"Skallywag Juanita said ya be grub bait. She be wrong, 'cause here ya be," he said. "Shoulda known better. Yep. What ya want, woman?"
"President Barack Obama," I said.
"Whoa. Why talk about an enigma? Start try'n to figger him out, makes ya go 'round in curliques," he snort'd. "Don't go nowhere."
Marty start'd gather'n wood for a fire. His way of say'n that he'll jaw some and feel'n spunky. Sign he's get'n lonely, but won't admit it.
Didn't take long till the fire be go'n. Sit'n on our sheepskins, I pull'd two skins of wine from my possibles. Goes fine with stars twinkl'n over you, I reck'n.
"Tell me your main point up front, She of Two Spirits. Need a center to amble toward," Marty's eyes grab'd mine, but an equal contest.
"Feel'ns don't sit right. Should I be cautious?" I ask'd. A frown on my puss.
Eyes still lock'd, he said, "Caution gets born when feelings rise from deep within. Those moments, there ain't no words, ya know. Don't think you be alone, She of Two Spirits."
"Times be, his words don't reflect his focus, or something. Them woo-woo heads in the estate of the fourth, are goofy. Can't trust a thing they be say'n," I huff'd.
Stir'n the fire, Marty said, "Like turn'n life into a story book?"
"Exactly! Perfect everything. A 'grand bargain,' he says. That concerns me, 'cause I don't think that means all of us," I said, try'n to catch my breath.
Marty sat silent for a long time. But with a bush for a face, there be no way of tell'n what he be think'n. So I wait'd.
He look'd into the fire and said, "You want Obama to break the chains of poverty and income inequality. He's a politician. He, like all of them, are told they can't, so don't."
"Be part of his job, I be think'n," I mutter'd.
"Not if the government is now consider'd a corporation and controlled like one," he replied.
Look'n stun'd, I said, "Who the hell believes that, 'cept'n coo-coo clocks?"
"Those who feel it's effects most," he said with sterness. Then he poked the tip of the wine skin into his beard; extend'n a burp that muff'd the front of his beard after his fill.
"Did have something funny happen," I said. "Got an email from Jim Messina about Obama's OFA organization. I wrote Messina what I felt and I got a reply from firstname.lastname@example.org."
"That be mighty disconcert'n; Obama hav'n a sales force handl'n the peoples questions and problems. Looks bad," said Marty.
We sat quiet for a bit and watch'd the desert move in the dark. Our ears listen'n to the sounds of rock crack'n, as they cooled from Sol's rays. A'course our wits were mellow from the wine.
"Marty?" I whispered. "Is our nation in big trouble?"
"All you be see'n is the bounce. Smack'd ground a long time back. People just ain't figger'd it out yet. Be cautious, woman. It be smart in this age of pretend'n," he offered.
Stand'n, I scritch'd my butt and said my so-longs. Marty gave me a grunt. He ain't much into goodbyes.
Be a long walk back, I a'reck'n.