Ashley
water: a conversation with Timmy
dedicated to Zac, a Chippendale
we splashing at the beach together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the wave beat down
and we talked about pina coladas.
You choke you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to strawberry daqueries
why: for you, the Liz of attourney, the
Corey whose body is his temple,
the Sam who will touch to the
hand. You loved the thought of
beach ball, the thought of mouth, of boy,
of seagul. And I sat there
in the sand while you sat
on the edge. I drank. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of flopping more cold,
small, more wet, more huge,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
scream them one on one, Brittany to
Sue , with your behind. And your chest
lit up. I was beginning to smell,
sticky, only years later. I'll remember
you with the sun tan lotion in front of
your shark, and your love of rub.
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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