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At half-past three
I heard you gasp
The dull concussion
Of fist on flesh
The icy scream
Of rage-thrown glass
His voice
Rough and spirited
Dancing punch-drunk
Around your frantic taunts
You cried again
Appalled, I closed the window
Against the storm
Then lay awake, uneasy
At the siren in the distance
And your sudden silence

Lord Jesus Christ
Of Belchertown, Mass
Almost died today
On the godless streets of
Northampton
He was run down
On of all things
A crosswalk
By a 20-year-old girl
Whose initials were
B.C.
She was probably an
Atheist.

(True story)

‘Lord Jesus Christ’ Run Down In Crosswalk
by The Associated Press

May 7, 2010 The victim might have forgiven the woman who ran him down in a Massachusetts crosswalk, but police haven’t.
Police say a Pittsfield woman has been cited for running down a man named Lord Jesus Christ as he crossed a street in Northampton on Tuesday.
The 50-year-old man is from Belchertown. Officers checked his ID and discovered that, indeed, his legal name is Lord Jesus Christ. He was taken to the hospital for treatment of minor facial injuries.
Police say 20-year-old Brittany Cantarella was cited for failing to yield to a pedestrian in a crosswalk.

What is the point
In having children
If at some point
You can’t enjoy
Breaking the rules
Together?

A controlled explosion
Of excess
And dissolute behavior
Can be just the thing
To bond a father
With his boys.

Her face like prairie earth
Deep scored and then abandoned
She wavered at the lip of undulating rug

I have a present yet to wrap she sighed
Green paper spread in invitation
Like the cloth at her once mighty table.

Moved and yet unmoved I smiled and kissed her brow
Knowing I must not carry
One more piece of that inheritance

Some few treasures of our imperfection
May be welcome to those who follow after
But mostly we must grieve and then let go.

Upon these wooden shelves
Above my head
Stood more books than I could
Throw my arms around
Every volume with a story
Of my life
What I was doing when I bought it
Where I lived
What I hoped
What I still promised
For someday

Each cloth-bound personality
Invited or accused me
Daily from its dusty perch
So that I dared not raise my eyes
For fear of censure
From my past.

I had not realized
The gravity of history
Until I seized upon those solemn watchers
And like some literary hitman
Bound and gagged them
Laughing hysterically
As I pushed them from the car
In the alley behind
The Salvation Army

There is space now in this room
And the heady smell of Pledge
I can breathe and dream
Again.

I only got the DVD
To see the fuss
Those forty-four days
Of rancor
And the Damned United

Instead I met
A father and his boys
Brian brash and 30s
Simon ten
And Nigel barely eight
Scything through West Yorkshire
Wipers flailing
Against the heavy rain.

And suddenly I was Nigel
All comics and crooked teeth
Short trousers
Licorice and trust
Wide-eyed at me dad
Tilting at the big world beyond
Our little car.

(After watching the movie: The Damned United)

Stomach knotted in
Pride and disbelief
I labored painstakingly
Through two full pages
Of dense black prose
Mourning the loss of
Forty-three people
Just like me

The driver never
Touched the brakes
Never raised his hands
As the train accelerated
Into a brick wall
Yet in his pocket were
Three hundred pounds
To buy his daughter a car
When his shift was done

Was this stupidity or suicide?
Distraction or despair?
At age seven
I learned
We never really know
The contents of
Another person’s mind.

Uncle Lawrence
Had the college plant
A hundred thirty-eight trees
When he began his job
Spindly little things
The mayor called them
Vulnerable yet full of promise
Perhaps for a philosopher
A seedling tree is the best answer
For human frailty
And the limits of our perfection.

Today those small signs of hope
Have grown to more than
One thousand strong
More than even he envisaged
Many of us have flourished
Also in unexpected ways
Watching from the window
He is old and frail
A spindly little thing himself
Folding in upon the promise
And yet he still commands respect
As he implores
For the trees – and all our dreams
Keep them growing
And replace them as they die.

Every other fortnight
Is one magical hour
We can lie here
Sated, luminous
The moon pouring onto our bed
Like the fresh cream
We drizzled over apple cake
The first night we made love.

When normal couples
Go on vacation
The waiters don’t have shifty eyes
International drug rings don’t happen
To be using the same hotel
An evil genius isn’t living up on the hill
Installing a giant laser gun capable of
Melting the UN building
They don’t get run off the road
By short foreign guys on mopeds
Or locked in the basement in a skimpy bathrobe
When all they wanted was a pint of Ben and Jerrys
They don’t get shot at with poison darts
Or find boa constrictors in their beds
The guy from the embassy really is who he says he is
And none of the relics in the local museum
Glow mysteriously in the dark
Or cause one to levitate
There are no Nazis
No Mafia
No monks
No mad scientists
No ancient runes
No secret panels
No digital countdown clocks
No explosions
Nothing.

Just the sun and the sand
And a tall glass with an little umbrella in it
Is that so much to ask?