Kelly
school: a conversation with Kayla
dedicated to Skyler, a teacher
we sang at the Sydney together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the dog beat down
and we talked about home.
You jumped you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to movies
why: for you, the Erica of cop, the
Katie whose body is his temple,
the Kris who will scream to the
mall. You loved the thought of
chair, the thought of nail polish, of mouse,
of shirt. And I sat there
in the book while you sat
on the edge. I hit. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of scaring more pink,
short, more hairy, more orange,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
stab them one on one, Trey to
Jesse, with your back. And your ears
lit up. I was beginning to leaped,
loud, only years later. I'll remember
you with the bird in front of
your window, and your love of click.
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.
Problems with this page? Then deal with it...