HOME SWEET HOME

I crank up the thermostat to ninety
and cold air streams from the vent.
Slowly my face, fingers, feet thaw.
I ache and I'm hungry.

Only a couple of days gone
and the hamburger's bad in the frig.
I crack open an Iron City
and grab the peanut butter jar.

The wind is howlin' from the window casement
in my "deluxe one bedroom apartment."
I look out the window. Across the street
new graffiti splashes the rusted iron gate
of Heppenstall's Cruicible, closed years ago.
It says, "AID's Alley." Just my luck.

Maybe a hot bath will change the weather.
I turn the hot water on all the way.
A little warm at first then icy.
Damn heater's still broken.
And the toilet, that too.
I jiggle the handle and it falls off.

In the living room I kick aside
stacks of newspapers, plop down on the couch.
Maybe there's a game on, who knows?
Diggin' in the cushions for the remote,
I get stabbed by a loose spring.
My fingers are still sorta blue
but that blood sure is red.
I click on the set and boom!
The power goes.



FATHERHOOD

I'm sittin' in the dark thinkin'
about everythin' and nothin'
when this picture pops into my head.
There's this little blond haired kid,
maybe two, that I usta pass on the street
oh, say, twice a week in the summer.
He'd stop, look me in the eye
and say, "good morning," wave his hand
and keep repeatin' it until I say something.

Most times I just grunt or mumble.
Once or twice I look at his old man
who always holds the boy's hand.
He'd nod and give me this cop's stare.
So the time I happened to have some bubble gum
in my pocket and think about givin' it to him
I think again. The kid smiles like he likes me
but the old man is big and don't.

One of them days I figure what the hell
and give the kid a bag of M&Ms.
The old man coughs and says, "say thank you."
The boy clucks and chimes the words.
I grin and walk away.
"Here, Daddy," I hear the kid say and turn.
The old man takes the bag.
They walk a few steps before I see him
drop the bag behind his back
and then kick it with his heel ina sewer.

Maybe my ole man would've done the same.



MY FATHER AND HIS FRIENDS

My ole man usta take me
for walks in the cemetery.
On the way, we'd stop at Yost's Drug Store,
buy a bag of peanuts. He'd push me
in a stroller, never mind I could walk.

Right inside this cemetery
was this house with a big iron gate
lookin' like a castle where maybe Peter Pan
lived with them lost boys.
I always wanted to go inside
but the old man just strolled straight by
to the big trees and little stone huts
with them stone angels and their wings
spread so high but I knew
they could never fly.

We'd always stop where I didn't expect.
Then I'd hear the crinkle of the brown paper bag
and look up and see the squirrels.
There were hundreds, maybe thousands.
My father would pitch a nut, then another.
Some would eat it right away, some
would take it and run up a tree.
Some days he'd give me one to throw
but I couldn't throw too far
and when a squirrel came too close
he'd whistle it away.
He took his time, makin' sure
everyone got one.
When the bag was empty, he'd wait
and I'd squirm wantin' to get out
to chase a squirrel or two.
His lips would be movin' with no sound
comin' out. Then he'd let out this deep breath,
and turn for the long walk home.



LAWRENCEVILLE HIGH

Then I start thinkin' about when we was rude boys
and cruisin' the hospital grounds
real cagey like, lookin' for keys
left in ignitions--you know,
somebody runnin' into the hospital
forgettin' to be careful, safe.

We'd pass by twice then hop in.
Twitch always got behind the wheel,
Dawson in the middle, me at shotgun.
We never did give no mind
to who owned the car or what kind
of emergency they had or how much
they needed the wheels in one piece.
We'd just get in and ride
and call it a Lawrenceville high.

The last time I done that
we got a car with a stick shift,
which Twitch don't know how to drive.
Me too, and Dawson neither.
But Dawson said it ain't nothin' to learn.
So down 45th Street we go
buckin' like some damn carnival ride.
When Twitch turned on Butler, it all went to shit.
Slammin' off this parked car, that one.
Stallin', startin', smackin' again.
There's this siren wailin' behind us,
and I jump out. From now on I figure
I gotta start likin' layin' low.

And with that for a bedtime story
I fall asleep.