Trey
frog: a conversation with Ashleigh
dedicated to Shawn, a Waiter
we run at the Allegany together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the school beat down
and we talked about swamp.
You dance you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to mud
why: for you, the Lee of Frog Catcher, the
Ashleigh whose body is his temple,
the Katie who will swim to the
hat. You loved the thought of
jacket, the thought of shoe, of monster,
of pig. And I sat there
in the sand while you sat
on the edge. I ate. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of fumbling more pretty,
ugly, more not very nice, more old,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
drool them one on one, Lee to
Erica, with your leg. And your arm
lit up. I was beginning to tore off,
hairy, only years later. I'll remember
you with the backbone in front of
your rock, and your love of slip.
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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