This past week I've killed two scorpions in my bodega. One I beat to death with a broom. The other froze, tail up, in front of the fridge when I clicked on the light. I reached over for the boric acid and tossed a spoonful on its back. It scurried under a box of books. If boric acid works with cockroaches it may work with scorpions. Had the scorpion been outside, I would've left it alone but in the bodega, no. I didn't want to reach into that box of books and get stung, or find one as a stowaway should I ever leave.
Scorpions - and getting the trailer screens replaced - remind me of this Lucinda Williams song:
Scorpions crawl across my screen
Make their home beneath my skin
Underneath my dress stick their tongues
Bite through the flesh down to the bone
And I have been so fuckin' alone
Since those three days
Once I was loved forever for three days. He was a handsome biker with curly blonde hair bleached even blonder by all those Arizona bike-riding days without a helmet. He was tall with sexy crooked teeth and emerald green eyes. He said he could feel it down to his bones that we'd be together forever. He couldn't wait for me to meet his mom. He kissed me and said I was a breath of fresh air because I didn't smoke or do drugs.
Then he disappeared.
Rumor had it he was shacking up with a skinny tweaker biker chick who smoked.