You open a pack of cigarettes
and you pour them out
perfect white and holy
twenty little jesuses
lying on the table
and you're careful
not to let them
roll off the table
and onto the floor
because that
would be
a sin
to put jesus
on the floor
because you did it once
in sunday school
and you found out
in no uncertain terms
what sacreligion
was all about
when you were nine years old
in a hard wooden chair
in the basement
of the church
after early service
in sunday school
and it was hot
and you didn't much care
about judas or jonah
you wanted to go home
and play in the dirt
in your neighbor's yard
with his great collection
of cars and trucks
in a giant hole
that he dug
in his back yard
because anything he wanted to do
he got to do
like build forts
with wood
and nails
in his room
and shoot his bb gun
in the house
and ride his bike
for miles
and miles
after dark
and dig giant holes
in his back yard
to play in
with his great collection
of trucks and cars
because his parents
were rich
and you would always ask him
to trade parents with you
because anything he wanted
he got
and anything he wanted to do
he got to do
like sit in a giant hole
that he dug
in his back yard
while you sat
on a hot day
in a hard chair
in the basement
of the church
in sunday school
listening to the teacher
reading aloud
from the bible
with an accent
as thick
as a mausoleum
and droning
like a sidewalk
with her hair pulled back
and tied
in knots
making her face
pointy and painful
and ready to burst
or at least
give her a nosebleed
like the one you got
that winter
when you took your rich neighbor's
stocking cap
and threw it into a pine tree
where it stuck
and while you were laughing
your rich neighbor
socked you
in the nose
and before you started crying
running home
with a bloody nose
you got very
somber
and filled with feelings
that you weren't quite sure
what to make of
like the ones
you'd sometimes get
in sunday school
when words from the bible
were read aloud
by your enormous
sunday school teacher
and you really didn't think
at the time
that the words
she was reading
were pointless
you were just bored
and sweating
and uncomfortable
with a bible
that you weren't
following along in
in your hands
and your hands
started sweating
on the bible
so you put
the bible
on your lap
and your lap
started sweating
on the bible
so you put
the bible
on the floor
on the dirty
basement floor
of the church
during sunday school
which made your sunday school teacher
shriek
the fear
of the wrath
of god
from her tight little mouth
which got suddenly
very big
and she sat down fast
and she looked
like she'd just seen
a holy ghost
and the sunday school class
sweating
in the basement
of the church
grew very motionless
like little wooden sheep
and little ceramic cows
in a nativity scene
with little plastic jesus
perfect white and holy
lying in a manger
no crying he makes
and after the echoes
of that terrible
shriek
gradually
faded
the sunday school class
was pretty sure
that there were going to find out
what it was
exactly
that was wrong
when the sunday school teacher
stopped shaking
and stood heavily up
to announce
that the bible
is jesus
and that the bible
should not
under any circumstances
be put
on the floor
because you wouldn't
put jesus
on the floor
you would hold him
in your hands
and sweat on him
and unless you tell jesus
your sin
of putting him
on the floor
and that you were sorry
you would burn
in the eternal fires
of hell
but you weren't really listening
because you couldn't wait
to go home
so you could play in the dirt
in your neighbor's yard
with his great collection
of cars and trucks
in a giant hole
that he dug
in his back yard

A month and a half ago Jeremy sent me an email.


I meant to answer, but it rolled up off the top of the screen and I forgot about it. Sorry about that.

That picture is of Karen B. and Gretchen S., almost 25 years ago. We were in school together; Karen in my grade, and Gretchen a year younger.

A handful of years after I graduated, I ran into Gretchen. Running into anybody I went to school with was unusual—I didn't move in the same circles as any of them, and to this day haven't happened across more than a couple of the old classmates.

Gretchen was getting ready to move to New York... and she asked me to come along. What surprised me was that she really seemed to mean it. What didn't surprise me, sadly, was that I didn't go.

I thought about that for a few years, wondering what the real reasons were why I didn't go, and what it would have been like if I did. I still wonder sometimes.

A long time later, when I finally did go to New York, I kept half-expecting to see her. But a long before that, I wrote this poem.

Gretchen in New York
We scattered the ashes of the American dream
from the torch of Liberty at dawn
We were the Great American Novel
We sang cowboy songs in the subway
and watched dirty movies in Times Square
We did a rain dance on a hot June day
on the ninety-eighth floor of the Empire State Building
We set free the trees in Prospect Park in Autumn
We had three children, two girls and a boy
and we named the Cherubim, Seraphim, and Steve
What a treat to see you on the street in Brooklyn
eyeing a '59 Cadillac two blocks beyond the bridge
with that gorgeous hair of yours—
I'll never forget your hair

At the laundromat, there was a bag of snacky something-or-other stuck above the retrieval door in the vending machine. Chips or crackers or pretzel bits filled with peanut butter—didn't matter what it was. Point is, it was stuck.

I figured that I could buy a package of peanut butter cups and knock it down, getting two for one. I put in my 65 cents, and the peanut butter cups fell on top of the bag... and stayed there. Gah!

I sat back down to watch the Powerpuff Girls fight off a giant ant that was eating the city.

It didn't take long before another guy saw the situation in the candy machine and started fishing in his pocket for change. I got up to watch. "These yours?" he asked.

"Just the peanut butter cups."

He put in his money and went for the Snickers—heavy, a good choice. The candy bar edged forward and toppled, crashing down like an ice shelf into the ocean on National Geographic sending huge sprays into the arctic air.

The three prizes fell into the tray. He raised his fists and jumped up and down and shouted, "Yes!" I hadn't expected that.

To the victor go the spoils; I sat back down. But then he put the bag-of-whatever on top of the vending machine, came over and handed me the peanut butter cups, and walked away, having played for the love of the game.

I read other poets
to see what you can
get away with
So far pretty much

I read other poets to see
what you can
So far pretty much

I read other poets so far
pretty much I read
other poets

so far get away

I read what you can
pretty much
so far

     —tramspark

Today is World AIDS Day.

According to the Joint United Nations Programme on HIV/AIDS, as of the end of 2002, the following trends of the worldwide epidemic (or pandemic) of HIV are evident:

• Today, 42 million people are estimated to be living with HIV/ AIDS. Of these, 38.6 million are adults. 19.2 million are women, and 3.2 million are children under 15.
• An estimated 5 million people acquired the human immunodeficiency virus (HIV) in 2002, including 2 million women and 800,000 children under 15. During 2002, AIDS caused the deaths of an estimated 3.1 million people, including 1.2 million women and 610,000 children under 15.
• Women are becoming increasingly affected by HIV. Approximately 50%, or 19.2 million, of the 38.6 million adults living with HIV or AIDS worldwide are women.

A perspective: HIV/AIDS killed more than 3 million people in 2003—over 8200 people every day. The September 11 World Trade Center terrorist attack in New York City killed 2,819. Each, tragic.