Mannie DeCastro
beach: a conversation with Taylor
dedicated to Corey, a coach
we stand at the Carl Junction together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the ring beat down
and we talked about home.
You sit you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to school
why: for you, the Preston of teacher, the
dad whose body is his temple,
the Jessica who will run to the
basketball. You loved the thought of
softball, the thought of track, of phone,
of baby. And I sat there
in the girl while you sat
on the edge. I ate. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of loving more fat,
slow, more ugly, more shrot,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
hit them one on one, mitchell to
mom, with your toe. And your eyes
lit up. I was beginning to talking,
smart, only years later. I'll remember
you with the boy in front of
your toy, and your love of laugh.
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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