Everyone has a father  —
but only some fathers
sow the seed
for their sons
to break into song

My cat stays on the windowsill,
his tail teases the flame of
a candle, his body —
motionless.

You exhale gasoline, 
toss around lit
matches, pockets bulging
with match boxes. 

I don’t think most people born last century remember, fully
The exact fadeout of their childhoods
It was typically a vaporous slide towards whatever came after (think of the ending of the movie “The Graduate” with Benjamin Braddock and Elaine Robinson on the bus, married and not knowing what to do next, I think it was a lot like that)

Maybe because Latin music is too raucous.
Maybe because two guys should know better than to kiss in the street.
Maybe because one name is easier to remember than forty-nine-and-counting.
Maybe because you can buy his gun in under eight minutes.
Maybe because it takes more time to collect the phones of his victims.
For smoke to rise out.

Driving on Paradise Road
on a Monday afternoon
I am stuck behind a school bus
Its ubiquitous goldenrod yellow
Stopping every other block

My friend wants words
to stop a bullet
but they won't.
Love might, but then
think about the man
kissing the man
as a last earthly act:
love & dancing
under the palms
fragmented into flak.