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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