Junk Boy

to the walls
between the shelves
which pretty much
were everywhere
and where there were no
shelves there were
stacks of books
books on the desk
filling the seat
of another chair
piled on a stool
stacked on the floor
the rug
the shelf just over his desk
was messy with
lopsided books
where he’d removed
one or two
his desk wasn’t a desk
at all
but a table
without drawers
made from a door
the rug under
the table legs
was worn shiny
where his shoes moved
the yellow dome
of the lamp seeped
yellow light on
the yellow pages
some were inked
some were not
How can I help you?
I shrugged my shoulders
I don’t know
I didn’t know how
or why I was even there at all
and wanted suddenly
not to be anywhere
when I heard
my stupid father in my mind
(You’re the reason she left.)
and how that cut me deep
and also how it cut to see
Jimmy’s sagging beer-bottle face
and bony sprawl down
on the kitchen floor
and my mouth said
my father is such a . . . such a . . .
I wanted to swear
but couldn’t say the f-word
not here
Ah. Well. I haven’t seen him
For a while. Years. But I remember him.
He has suffered things, I think.
and it came out
has he been in jail?
what did he do?
he frowned
like a teacher would
but the frown didn’t last
Why don’t you talk to him?
so he has been in jail
figures
maybe that’s why
he’s such an asshole
Bobby. Bobby.
Look. It’s been forever
Since I said a word to him.
Maybe I should check in.
As a friend?
good luck with that
Do you want to sit down?
I looked and saw
the stool with
books on top
(fewer than the chair)
I moved them to the floor
and sat
but the moment I did
it seemed so dumb to be there
talking with him
when I don’t know how to
that I leaned to leave
ready to bolt
until I saw his papers
the papers on the table
had little drawings
on them
or not drawings
but curly lines
linking these words with those
so many snaky lines
and winding arrows
and tangled threads
he saw me looking
at the nest of papers
Next Sunday’s sermon . . .
It’s how I write, in little thoughts
That I need to connect to . . . to . . .
and I thought
he was offering me
a look at them
when his head
went down
his chin down
on his chest
and he shook
I should go
No, no. It’s . . . it’s just . . .
and he breathed in
sniffed in
and made to pull
a tissue from his pocket
but he didn’t find one
and just wiped his nose
on his sleeve
There is so much hurt in the world,
Isn’t there? I mean, you can hardly
Not see it.
Some tragedies we can’t help.
Hurricanes, earthquakes, floods.
But some we make up
All by ourselves.
Bombings, famine, shootings . . .
I’m sorry
Right. Sorry. We’re all sorry, but . . .
I didn’t know where
he was going
and luckily he stopped
and found a tissue box
So.
So.
he smiled
an old man smile
That’s what all this is.
Trying to be a bit more than sorry.

His Little House
had the smell
of a library like
the library in school
but without the
lunchroom smell
he shifted the papers
together
into something
like a pile
So tell me about school these days.
It’s been a while since you came to church.
You’re a junior now? Or, no.
Sophomore.
I should be
but fifth didn’t go so well
I’m a freshman
he nodded slowly
then raised his
eyebrows about
something he didn’t say
You wanted to talk.
Is it more about your father?
I don’t know
not really
I have to go
I got up from the stool
why had I stalked
his little house
and come here anyway?
he stood by the door
not opening it
just stood
and stood
Are you sure there’s nothing else?
and they went off
again
my lungs
my breath
my mouth


I Know This Girl
he took his hand
off the handle and
let it fall to his side
Oh. Yes?
she’s weird
an artist
really good
but she doesn’t like church
or anything really
I don’t think she likes me
especially now
but who cares, right?
and anyway
she has a girlfriend
but she really hates her mother
sorry this is all mixed up
but he figured it out
I think I know who you mean.
yeah?
well I don’t like my dad
but this girl and her mother
you should hear them
she talks about wanting
her mother
to die
or be gone anyway
I know I shouldn’t care but—
No. You should care.
Of course you should.
he bit his inside lip
Good of you to tell me.
well have you seen her drawings?
what she can do?
I have, yes. Her mother showed me.
you would think
she . . . I mean,
was he messed up?
I pointed to a drawing
he had on his wall
of Jesus with his
crown of thorns on
Jesus? Messed up?
no! the guy who drew him?
Michelangelo?
was he
you know
a perfect saint
or was he mean and . . . whatever?
he snickered a little bit
I read he wasn’t all that friendly,
And fairly arrogant,
As maybe a genius might feel
From time to time.
A person with his own agenda, right?
A bit of a bully, I suppose,
So maybe, yes . . .
but the picture is good
isn’t it?
it looks good
you have it on your wall
Oh yes. He is
Considered one
Of the finest artists
In history.
she can do that
She can. She could. She’s very talented.
but she’s
I don’t know
mean and snotty
no not snotty
cruel
and she gets mad so fast
it’s like
what the hell just happened?
I don’t know what to
how to
I can’t figure her out
it’s only
Only . . . ?
I took her picture
from inside my jacket
unfolded it on
the table
she did this
he was quiet for a while
Your face exactly.
It’s you, really.
It’s what I see right now.
So much going on in there.
She caught you here.
caught me
that’s what she did
that’s what I am
caught
She has a lot going on too.
I know
but
I don’t know
he laughed
Join the club.
no look
if she’s so mean
how can I look
like that to her?
she’ll never
really like me
not really
so why?
how?
my heart was pumping loud
blood rushed in my ears
and all my junk
was getting tangled in my head
all knotted up
Rachel her mother
my mother
my father Rachel
junk junk junk
I was sweating
in my shirt
my pants
down my back
ready to say
something I didn’t know
a freaking thing about
so I got up
I got up
and those hinges
those mismatched offset hinges squealed
when I pushed
through the door
Robert, wait.
Wait.
but I stumbled
down
the dark slope
to the river
to the dark
to my yard
to my other room


I Wired the Doors Shut
wired myself away
from everybody
twisted the wire
in my fingers
until it was tight
wire
wire
I heard they stole a monkey
from its mother
and gave it a mother
made out of wire
instead of a living one
and gave it one
made from towels too
without the living one
it went to the towel one
when they took that away
the monkey had only
the wire mother
it grew up so screwed up
in the head
rocking twitching hiding
and crying
if monkeys even cry
what sort of mother
did I have
for those few months
what kind of father
did she leave me with
what kind of girl
can be so up and down mean
to me
to make me
rock and twitch and hide and cry
like I was doing now


The Picture from