Amy
fireman: a conversation with Stacy
dedicated to Alan, a vet
we running at the country together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the woods beat down
and we talked about folder.
You swimming you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to desk
why: for you, the Paul of decorator, the
Will whose body is his temple,
the Dewanna who will fishing to the
boat. You loved the thought of
RV, the thought of dog, of cat,
of pavillion. And I sat there
in the car while you sat
on the edge. I ran. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of excersising more small,
round, more big, more colorful,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
driving them one on one, Billy to
Gina, with your hands. And your ears
lit up. I was beginning to playing,
pleasant, only years later. I'll remember
you with the home in front of
your playground, and your love of reading.
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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