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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