Suzie
ball: a conversation with John
dedicated to Sally, a doctor
we trotting at the North Dakota together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the stencil beat down
and we talked about car.
You strolling you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to bird
why: for you, the Fiona of teacher, the
Pete whose body is his temple,
the Jim who will flew to the
dog. You loved the thought of
carriage, the thought of moped, of ostrich,
of toy. And I sat there
in the bike while you sat
on the edge. I carried. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of farting more hairy,
furry, more stinky, more strong,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
bounced them one on one, Joye to
Caroline, with your big toe. And your femur
lit up. I was beginning to sleep,
bold, only years later. I'll remember
you with the shirt in front of
your potato, and your love of hussle.
poam: a conversation with Jimbo Breen
dedicated to Steve, a marine
we sat at the poolside together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the sun beat down
and we talked about nuclear war.
You said you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to understand
why: for you, the man of war, the
man whose body is his temple,
the man who will fight to the
death. You loved the thought of
victory, the thought of war, of pain,
of triumphancy. And I sat there
in the swimming pool while you sat
on the edge. I paused. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of fighting more direct,
slower, more painful, more personal,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
fight them one on one, man to
man, with your fists. And your eyes
lit up. I was beginning to understand,
now, only years later. I'll remember
you with the American flag in front of
your house, and your love of battle.
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