“All random, wasted, and dispersed”
—Theodore Roethke
“Against Disaster”
The clerk inside tells me she can’t make any comments.
I ask why forty people would be gathered outside at 1:30 a.m.
The clerk tells me she can’t make any comments. I ask
how we lessen gun violence in black communities.
The clerk says she can’t make any comments. I ask
if the loitering signs outside are new. No, she says,
her only comment. Outside, the simple sound of traffic.
Tires on asphalt. Tires on concrete. Tires on cement.
The clerks never want to make any comments. Outside,
a girl with purple hair exits the Speedway. I ask how
we lessen the violence. She uses her car door as a sort
of shield. “Let’s start talking about it,” she says.
She makes comments: “Mental health is a real thing.”
“Everyone is going through something.” “Yes, it is
hard.” “Put yourself in their shoes.” “I have a child
to raise.” She has a 7-year-old daughter. She works
4 jobs. She’s also a professional wrestler. A fan of
Stone Cold Steve Austin and Triple H. Later, I watch
her win a match online, wearing all purple swimwear,
blowing victory kisses to the crowd. She talks of how
kids now need “baseball, basketball,” that sports save
lives, give positive outlets. Next door’s a bp. A clerk
inside makes comment after comment. The shooting
didn’t happen where he worked, so he’s an open book.
And he seconds everything about sports, telling me
“the kids have nothing to do.” Wearing a XXL black
t-shirt, “Dee,” his nickname, says “recreation” is key.
He says there’s no “swimming pools,” “no budget,”
that “the new generation is left with nothing.” Later,
I find out the shooting was a 32-year-old and a 38-
year-old exchanging gunfire. Two sisters, also in
their 30s, were shot. The assumption is that these
shootings are being done by kids. I find this out
later, though, can’t ask them what to do if it, really,
is adults shooting at adults. I ask if it’s dangerous
being a clerk. He says no, that people mostly come
in and play the lottery, do scratch-offs. A woman
comes inside and does just that. 36 different options
for scratch-off tickets, names like STRIKE IT RICH,
LIONS, $2,000,000 LUCKY, JUNGLE CASHWORD.
Driving home, the billboards keep flashing GRAND
BLANC STRONG with a white lit candle to remember
the 5 killed and 8 injured at the September 28 shooting.
I drive to the church, where the shooting happened.
There’s a black-and-white sign there saying GRAND
BLANC BETTER TOGETHER. To my surprise,
the church seems to be untouched, the front doors
fixed. Online, it says the church is “permanently
closed.” The church is lit up with lights. I park.
I can’t believe how quiet it is. I sit there, staring
at the nothing. Between Grand Blanc and Saginaw,
both of the mass shootings, is Frankenmuth. I go
there. To decompress. I’ve never been. The town,
I find, is sort of Disney Euro. Simulacra. Hyper-
reality. I get food at a restaurant with chalet-style
architecture. Staff are dressed in lederhosen and
alpine hats, Oktoberfest dresses. The entire time
I eat, a young boy sits at the front to greet guests.
Later, I realize the boy is actually a statue. Near
the bathroom they’re selling strange small signs
saying: HUNTING: IF A MAN IS ALONE IN
THE WOODS, WITH NO WOMEN TO HEAR
HIM...IS HE STILL WRONG? A toilet flushes.
Ron Riekki co-edited Undocumented: Great Lakes Poets Laureate on Social Justice.
