Travis Butchello
house: a conversation with Jessie
dedicated to mason, a garbage worker
we run at the Allegany together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the dirt beat down
and we talked about store.
You shower you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to fish
why: for you, the Travis of waste treatmant, the
aj whose body is his temple,
the bonnie who will cleaning to the
scum. You loved the thought of
caught, the thought of pencil, of deer,
of glasses. And I sat there
in the snake while you sat
on the edge. I went. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of raining more big,
hot, more small, more cold,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
read them one on one, kelly to
kayla, with your leg. And your eyes
lit up. I was beginning to break,
pretty, only years later. I'll remember
you with the earings in front of
your watch, and your love of shock.
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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