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Jesse Minkert’s Rookland is a place people may go if they want to. Some of the locals rise from the soil in costumes, if dirt could be considered a costume. If a body could be considered a form of transportation, then Rookland is full of the most dangerous rides. Her Majesty loses sleep from the exploits of the Heir Apparent. Melanie grinds up tiger moths to flavor her chocolate milk. Club girls party through generations. Belinda’s face is a rainbow, and Collin can’t stop washing his hands. Greta sees her childhood end. Bennie has wardrobe problems during a concert. The old man feels himself being chewed. Discord on the plaza leads to burning clouds in the streets. Someone spills his drink on a leather seat cushion. Someone else dies and invites his children to inspect his corpse. Marjorie fires up her kiln. A woman named Diana swims through perilous waters. A woman named Christa explodes over Cape Canaveral. A man reads a certain destiny in his sons. The magnificent chaos of Sylvia’s hair gets a detailed explanation. Timmy hides the evidence far from the trail. Not all the folks here are people. Hares and vixens run for Her Majesty. The Percheron mare! Robot arms! Mrs. Capuchin has tea with Marv the Constrictor. A shot from the cab of a pickup kills a doe. Everybody hates Linda’s dog. Sharks, jellyfish, palominos on locoweed, and of course the rooks, who snatch Timmy’s spoor from the wind. The citizens of Rookland wrestle with families, loved ones, their bodies, their minds and the world. They fail and succeed, but for the most part keep trying. They slither, dance, crawl and fly in language that can only have come from the mind of this poet. To travel to Rookland, this book can be your ticket. On the other hand, maybe you’re there already. Buy a ticket anyway.
