a raindrop on humus
drips down through fossils
on a cave roof
it joins others in a river
that flows out of a rock seam,
pure, clear, cold
the twelve year old cups his hands
and drinks in the sweetest memory
he’ll ever taste
the old man sits in the porchswing
and daydreams
midday heat conjures miasmas
from the victim who smiles skyward,
rictus cocked, drooling on the yellow stripe,
empty eyes looking different directions,
in tire tread
there is being, demise, vivacity, mortality;
sons daughters mothers fathers
friends acquaintances self—
mounds of earth, urns, carved stones—
damnation, salvation, ruination, redemption
the rearview mirror frames a procession,
attendants in black strut over their treasures,
pick tufts of fur from pavement.
the sun shown the snow day
when the children rolled, stacked,
hatted, dressed, and gloved him,
then, proud of their work
they took the sled to the hill
in the park and forgot him
when school opened again
and children were away
his nose fell, point first
into ball below his waist
and the snowman, grown up,
saluted age, maturity, and death
he was smiling, of course,
sun on his cheery cheeks
and button eyes
“neighbors, friends, compatriots!”
he seemed to say, “come and see
the breath of life breathed into me”
the morning sun decapitated
the snowman and smacked that smile
and button eyes right off his face
the dog chewed up his boots
the sun sets now,
his carrot nose lies in the grass,
his hat up near the door
on the end of a stick a glove waves goodbye
the wind blows leg-lifted strays,
children, painters, and lovers
out of the park
bags lasso hydrants
and fluff into sewer drains
along leaf-matted streets
a boy on a bike skids,
stops, smacks the cold
out of his hands
sunlight with sharp edges,
falls around him
malicious, full of spite
that summer, the park ached
with the screams and yips
of kids and dogs loosed
upon it
it was green then,
pool full, moms with sunglasses
kids with flippers and sea monster floats
people burned weenies, took in a breeze,
smiled at each other
with beer foam moustaches
around, in the houses, mamas sang in kitchens—
bread steam, meat-and-potato sear
floated over the baseball diamond
that crawled with those spidery little guys
on St. Helena’s B-Team,
who was beating St. John Francis Regis again—
porches creaked, smoldered with cigars,
a hundred dogs on every block
raised the living and the dead
at each out-of-sync clock chime
anyone who had any money
bought grape pop in a bottle
a pack of luckies, or a snort of whiskey
and life was as good
as it was ever going to get
that summer, in the park,
in the pool, we watched
young mamas and older sisters
cross and uncross their legs,
snap their swimsuit tops
and pull the elastic out from behind
with index fingers
it was before life became knotty,
before the girls got pregnant,
and things went bad with cops
parents, brothers and sisters
and we all got the hell out
that summer was as good
as it was ever going to get
but there was no way to trace the lines
through the waves in the water,
to see the reflections in the sunglasses
rommel knew he lost north africa
for whatever the reason: stalingrad,
montgomery, a few tanks of fuel
o’ for a few tanks of fuel
he stared at the sea as the afrika korps
sowed devil’s gardens
in coral sand behind him
intricate plantings
that when they bloomed they unmade men,
and strung them on trellises of barbed wire
in neat rows like marionettes
he took a deep breath
considered the desert laid out to the sea
said a prayer to gods of his father
for his men and his country
he did not mention his boss
the field marshal knew loving gods
can’t choose sides. he prayed for montgomery,
alexander, stumme, and bastico, too, and their soldiers
the fight already ended
on a hill beneath skies at tel el-eisa,
there are no sides, good or bad,
just desert and sea, scorpions and gulls
and men asleep in ossuaries, vaults full of stars
just the mention of the heat
starts conversations
that lead to lawn problems, vacations,
and how the kids are doing at home
the grass is blond and brown now
the tree leaves show the stress
now tired, they fall
in anticipation of autumn
school’s back in session
the streets fall quiet during the day
it’s a good time to sit outside
in the sun and sweat
it’ll all be over soon
and we’ll huddle in
against the gray winter
our lives confined
five pairs, five victims,
five lies for truths suspended
on Christmas-ornamented line
after the walk from school
ends at popsicles, televisions,
cigarettes, and bike pedals,
bullies forget
a dog barks at sunset strollers,
shoe factories in china smoke,
voices shoot through wire
in the night quiet settles
on alley cat tails,
breezes knock heels together
wind busts down concrete and brick canyons.
rain chases bums into doorways and under steps.
over hunched shoulders and upturned collars,
umbrellas open and close like fists