Mannie DeCastro
beach: a conversation with you


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
kid 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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