soft eyes will see
the great big world
and let it in
but hard eyes are
armor iron-hard
against the world
a visor with no slit
that only keeps
the big world out
he said how you swim
around in life
and life (like water)
comes in through your sight
if your eyes are soft
but how you have
no openings
only yourself
inside you
if they’re hard
Now can you guess, my friends,
What sort of eyes
Our Savior had?
the kids waggled their hands
their parents smiled
that girl nodded
her red-haired head
and said she had soft eyes too
See, Mommy?
then she blinked
just before she left
and moved away
sometimes I wonder
what kind of eyes
I have
maybe I have
one of each
Jimmy Listens
to songs about cowboys
who rot in jail
for robbing banks
and stealing cars (and hearts)
and shooting lovers dead
down by the river
or the railroad tracks
basically breaking
one by one
all Father Percy’s
ten commandments
some of Jimmy’s songs
are kind of funny
I busted up the town tonight
Butt-drunk on gin and ale
But just as I was taking flight
They spied my butt
And caught my butt
And tossed my butt in jail!
some are not so funny
some of his songs
just make you hurt inside
The preacher finally comes and calls,
I weep and tell my sin,
But these old moldering prison walls
Just keep on closing in.
which pretty much
is school
and every day
and every place
for me
At School You Learn
that maybe there’s
a third kind of eye
the one that’s sharp
and tries to dig inside you
to your private place
and call you out
and make you talk
so all the other eyes
can stare at you
it was yesterday
just after sliding in my chair
when Mr. Mark bubbled out my name
Bobby, what might the answer be?
how many eyes turned to me
Hmm? What’s your best guess?
how many burned on me
Do you remember how we covered this?
I knew the answer
was stumbling too far back
in my brain
caught in the clawing branches
to bring out right away
so I shook my head
then in sixth period
Can you read this out for us, Bobby?
Miss Pagelli tossed this off
like the world was
a fun place
and the snickering
started when
like the old man in the shed
I dragged my finger
under every word
Yeah Teachers Sure
here and there
maybe one a year
or none some years
they look and frown
Bobby, do you want to talk?
Bobby, is there a reason
Your paper isn’t done?
Bobby, Bobby, Bobby?
but I slip past and fall
between the lines
and off the page
I don’t add up
I don’t react the way
the lab instructions say
I fumble
don’t connect
am left behind
aside off-center
and so far backstage
I’m in the parking lot
and they don’t follow me
teachers don’t
they can’t
how can they follow me
unless I leave a trail
for them
unless I help
Help us help you.
but I don’t
because we know
both you and me
you and me together know
one less like me is good
one less is easier
one less is fine
one less of me is more
for all the rest
So After School
I shut my mouth and
keep it shut
and hours go by
when I don’t speak a word
at the end of days
like that
my voice
is scratchy
from not speaking
I’ve kept it
for myself
to use or not
those are good days
A Thousand Million
things that
jam my head
and burn my eyes in every class
fly off when I set foot
inside
the wood
that noisy acid
rain they pour
It’s him again.
Who?
Junk.
What’s his problem?
Problemssss. Plural.
Where’d he get that head?
Watch what he does.
Look. Look!
until my
scalp and neck and shoulders
ache so hot
and my eyes go blind
but the quiet in the woods
the quiet of the woods
the quiet washes all of it away
and the air quivers
like wings humming
and all that humming
hums around you
and inside you
if you let it
through the eight or nine
holes in the human body
not counting pores
but including eyes
I take the rough path
from the street
and step up
on the flat packed
dirt of the trail
and like the myth guy
when he touches ground
I start to pull myself
into myself
and make myself
again
Every Day I Stop
two point three miles from my house
where the trail narrows
between ledges of rock
where the road for the rails
(the rail road)
was blasted flat
out of the slope
there is a bare foundation
just after this narrowing
a footing
of stone brick concrete
where a long gone
rail shed stood
or utility station
every day I stop
go to the edge and look down
the slope
is steep
some eighty feet
to the rocky creek
below
a scary sight if you were
a railroad passenger
it scares me too but
every day I stop
step to the edge
look down
at the moving creek
and wish
I were
two point three million miles from home
It Was Dinnertime
or should have been
when I jumped inside
from those busted steps
but
instead of putting supper
on the table
for me
(his only son)
instead of dishing
out hot food
Come and get it, Bobby!
dad pulled a deck of cards
from a drawer
kicked out a chair
and plunked down
at the kitchen table
with two open beers
(he was alone)
frying myself an egg
I said
this is a junkyard
a dump
of junk
he looks up at me
like he’s not sure
who I am
Didn’t you have an egg this morning?
I didn’t bother
to say
it’s all there was
That many eggs a day will kill you.
they all know this place at school
crap all over the place
they call it a junkyard—
Jimmy gestured
with his hands as if
so what?
then said aloud
So what?
What do you want
Me to do about it?
You don’t like it?
Clean it up.
me? it’s your garbage
it breaks you kick it
off the deck
you should get rid of trash
like normal people do
You live here.
Besides, shut your mouth,
I work.
doing what?
picking up your disability check?
Shut your mouth.
I do jobs.
When I can.
The government is tough.
You can’t work too much.
Besides . . .
he dealt four hands
of five cards each
. . . what do you care
What morons say?
But, hey, Slug, if you don’t like it,
You can clean it up.
In fact, if you don’t clean the yard . . .
If you don’t . . .
what?
if I don’t clean it
what?
I’ll think of something worse.
Do it this weekend
Or else.
I can’t do it all myself
Yeah, well, he said, I won’t do any of it.
I thought of the camper
my mother’s camper
on cinder blocks
in the
corner of the yard
my secret plan
can we
at least get a big
trash container?
Can I win the lottery?
which Jimmy thought was funny
and laughed at
as he hovered
over the cards of three
imaginary friends and
turned some over
he kept laughing
even after
I left the room
with a curse in my head
a straight finger in my pocket
and thinking
well, that didn’t go well
On the Other Hand
one good thing
about an impossible task
is that it’s impossible
and because it’s impossible
it becomes real simple
it’s like
Hey, fix the world by three o’clock or else!
which you could never do
so any little thing you try
seems like
Well, it’s a start.
so after school the next day
I dumped my pack
on my still
